Out Of The Woods
by SusieSamurai
Summary: Tragedy blew through Fred Ackerman's life much like a hurricane, leaving her standing amongst the wreckage desperate to salvage her broken parts. Bitter and angry, Beacon Hills could either be this young warrior's absolution or destruction.
1. There Better Be A Dead Body

**Chapter One**

 ** _There Better Be A Dead Body_**

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or BTVS, nor do I earn any sort of profit from this work of fiction

* * *

Beacon Hills had nothing on Sunnydale.

Fred Ackerman had been there for all of two weeks now and there hadn't been a single vampire lurking in the alleys or lounging in the cemetery. Not that she had ever really understood the whole "crypt" thing. Even Spike had struggled to justify it. Once she had pointed out that while cobwebs and crumbling stone lend themselves to the creepy aesthetic, but when faced with the prospect of eternity one would prefer comforts such as carpet, high water-pressure and wifi.

Basic human needs were necessary after all, regardless of whether you were an eternally damned creature of the night or a girl with a Divine Calling for a short-lived life of violence and attempting to get blood out of their clothes.

Divine Calling was a nice way of saying sacrificial lamb. How else would you describe the life of a Vampire Slayer?

It was supposed to be one per generation. One poor unlucky girl who got thrust into a world of darkness and pain and loneliness thanks to the actions of a few old men thousands of years ago. Until Buffy Summers decided to turn the system on its head and ruin the lives of 3000 girls in one fell swoop.

Buffy Summers. The original slayer who could've avoided the events of the past seven months if she had just done her job correctly and not allowed the First Evil to even get a foothold in this world. Let alone amass a cult of insane homicidal followers that were sent out to murder every potential slayer and her family. If Buffy had done her job Fred would still be in San Francisco blissfully unaware of the underlying darkness in the world instead of an orphaned child-soldier shipped off to war.

Following the battle with The First, Sunnydale was nothing but a crater in the ground and Fred had planned to abandon ship. As it was, she had almost made it. The freedom offered by the bus back to San Francisco less than three feet away when a rumbling British accent and betrayed cornflower-blue eyes had hauled her back. It had been a dirty move on Buffy's part, sending Dawn and Kevin after her. Even through the maelstrom of grief and anger that seemed to be the only thing fueling her tiny body, the guilt she felt as she stood in front of her Watcher and best-friend did more than Buffy dragging her kicking and screaming ever could.

Turning away from that bus back to her home, back to house she had last seen splattered by her parents blood, she had instead stepped towards the two people she had left.

Headquarters were established in Scotland in an old castle filled with teenage girls learning how to use their newfound strength and learn to protect themselves. And Fred had excelled. All that rage had expressed itself through brutal fists and bloody lips. Ending with the small blonde girl graduating top of her class and being relocated back to California after three months.

Trading the rolling moors and morning fog for Californian civilisation wasn't a hard sell. Despite Beacon Hills being smack-dab in the middle of San Francisco and Sunnydale - a three hour drive either way - Fred was fine as long as there would be vampires for her to dust.

Only there weren't any fucking vampires.

As the _Spiderman_ theme interrupted Fred's pity-party for one, the blonde stopped short from where she had been stomping through the underbrush. Darting her eyes around she wasn't surprised to find that she was still utterly alone with nothing but the shadows of Beacon Hills Preserve keeping her company ever since she'd abandoned her post on Alfred Wilkinsons tombstone - _great friend, excellent husband_ \- half an hour ago. After so long, sharpening stakes just lost the novelty and Fred had decided enough was enough. With the sheer size of the Beacon Hills Preserve - the town was at least seventy percent woodlands from what she'd seen - Fred was beginning to theorise that all of the vampires in Beacon Hills were outdoorsy health-nuts who preyed exclusively on late-night hikers.

Fishing her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, Fred allowed a smile to twist the corners of her pink lips when she saw the photo lighting up the screen.

"Wow, I'm worth the cost of a call from Scotland - color me flattered."

" _Nope I'm calling you collect,"_ a chirpy voice responded to Fred's sarcastic drawl, " _How's California? Is it sunny? Oh my God, I miss sunny."_

"Well, seeing as it's almost ten at night I would have no go with a resounding - not sunny," Fred answered, the smile in her voice taking the edge off of her sarcasm. "So, why are you calling me Dawnie? Jonesing already and it hasn't even been a month."

" _Ha-Ha_ Freddie _."_ The inflection in her voice when she said 'Freddie' implying just how much she _didn't_ appreciate the nickname Buffy had coined for her, " _And maybe I am. Maybe the particular brand of angry white girl you bring to the table has left such a large void in my life I have resorted to desperate phone-calls."_

Black-rimmed blue eyes rolled dramatically skyward, even though Dawn couldn't see her, and Fred stopped moving to slump against the trunk of a tree and drawing patterns in the dirt with the toe of her boot. Dawn Summers was Buffy's younger sister who was several months older than Fred, the two bonding during her time in Sunnydale and then Scotland. One could even go as far as to tentatively suggest that Dawn was her best-friend.

"And this is just your fortnightly dose of angry white girl then?"

" _Weeeell,"_ Dawn drew out the word as she attempted to sound sly, " _What about boys?"_

"Boys." Fred deadpanned. "I'm here to fulfill my Divine Calling, hold back the hordes of evil, and you're asking me about boys?"

" _Yes!"_ Dawn squealed loudly enough that Fred moved the phone away from her ear to avoid a perforated eardrum. " _If I'm stuck at Hogwarts School For Girls for who knows how much longer, then I'm going to live vicariously through you gosh-darnit!"_

""Prepare to be vicariously disappointed, my dude," Fred told her with a self-deprecating snort. "There's only one boy I've even interacted with since being here and I'm fairly sure he thinks I'm a _Queen Of The Damned_ groupie with a graveyard kink."

* * *

Four nights ago Fred had been perched atop a grave-stone in the only cemetery in town - since Kevin had emphasised that folding-chairs aren't a priority staple for patrols - kicking her feet out as she played _Pokemon Red_ on her Nintendo.

"Take that you Pidgeot son of a bitch!"

"Is-is someone there?" A male voice called out uncertainly into the dark.

Startled, Fred found herself slipping backwards off of the gravestone, her Nintendo flying up into the air as she struggled to correct herself.

The owner of the voice arrived just in time to find her scrunched behind the slab of marble with her feet in the air as the Nintendo came down hard on her chest. Looking up from her position on the grass through a cloud of blonde hair it was easy to tell - even upside down - that he was well on his way to becoming a looker once puberty was through with him. He was tall and lanky still, but curly ash-blond hair and a jaw you could cut glass on would definitely get some girls engine revving one day soon.

"Hi," Fred's voice was flat as she greeted the boy, his expression of shock quickly melting into one of concern as he almost tripped over his feet to help her up. Grasping his offered hand she awkwardly untangled herself, letting him pull her to her feet.

"Thanks," Fred absentmindedly said as she rubbed the spot on her sternum where her 3DS had decided to pile-drive into her chest.

"What - uh - what are you doing out here?" He nervously rubbed the back of his neck with one hand while shoving the other into his jeans pocket.

"I could ask you the same question," Fred shot back with a cocky tilt to her chin, hoping to catch him off-guard.

"I work here," he replied bemusedly, folding his arms across his chest.

"I should probably ask you a different question," Fred stated.

As the boy continued to stare at her, awaiting an answer, Fred breathed heavily through her nose. "Look, do I _have_ to justify myself?" Fred demanded gesturing towards him, "Are teenage girls not allowed to seek solitude amongst the dead? Is that a strictly teenage boys who work here thing?"

After a pause that was just beginning to err on this side of awkward, the boy finally grinned widely and offered, "I'm Isaac."

"Fred," she replied with a triumphant smirk.

"Fred?" Isaac repeated, brows raised slightly in surprise over the small blonde girl having a decidedly not small blonde girl name.

"Yup," Fred answered, popping the 'p' and refusing to offer any explanation about her name whatsoever. "Well Isaac, it's been real swell, but I'm gonna go now."

Isaac had simply tilted his head and gazed at her bemusedly as she gathered her belongings and disappeared into the shadows. Almost as though she hadn't even been there at all.

* * *

" _Is he also a Lestat-wannabe with a cemetery-kink?"_ Dawn asked, obviously not in the mood for any form of subject avoidance. " _If he's cute enough - it could be worth it! Buffy once dated one of those. He was all gloomy Edgar Allan Poe, death is inevitable, Emily Dickinson poetry-type stuff. And then she had to save him from being a Happy Meal on legs when he got his stalker on and followed them to the funeral home where some redneck bible-vamp was lurking."_

"Has your sister ever had a normal relationship in her life?" Fred couldn't help but ask.

" _Weeeell, there was Riley I suppose… then again he went all Mega-Super-Soldier and got addicted to vamp-bites so maybe not so much,"_ Dawn mused. " _But anyway, you are not Buffy! Just cos you're both blonde midgets doesn't mean that you're doomed to follow in her relationship footsteps. You are so not doomed, you are like the complete opposite of doomed. Doomed is off hiding somewhere because you are so not it."_

"Dawn - quit saying 'doomed'. Seriously."

" _Doom, doom, doom, doomity doom!"_ Dawn proceeded to facetiously sing down the phone-line.

"Okay!" Fred all but shouted into the phone, "If it'll make you shut up I'll pretend for five seconds that I'm one of your Gossip Girls in the Sweet Valley of the Travelling Pants."

" _Name."_

"Isaac," Fred continued without missing a beat, wishing for it all to be over, "Tall, lanky, blue eyes, curly blonde hair."

" _Did you get his blood-type and Social Security Number too?"_

Nose wrinkling at Dawn's tone, Fred opened her mouth to say something no doubt scathing that the other girl would let roll off her back like water when her phone began to beep. Pulling it from her ear a growl of frustration rumbled low in her throat when Fred saw that Kevin was attempting to reach her, his face gazing at her over the rim of his mug.

"As much as I'm enjoying this truly stimulating conversation, I've gotta book," Fred informed Dawn without a hint of disappointment over being interrupted. "John Constantine beckons."

" _Maybe he finally caused the Great Tea Depression of 2011?"_

"Knowing my luck, you're probably not far off," Fred smiled, ignoring the beeping in the background as her Watcher tried his damnedest to make contact. "We'll skype later."

" _Looking forward to it - miss your face!"_

Switching the call as Kevin called back a second time, Fred sang into the phone, "There better be a dead body!"

" _How about half of a dead body?"_

"Watcher say what?" Fred was stunned as she sprang up from her slouched position against the tree.

" _That got your attention,"_ Kevin chuckled, the sound rumbling across the phone-line like the purr of some large jungle cat, " _The local cops have located one half, and are currently combing the woods doing their very best to find the other. Current theory is -"_

"- animal attack," Fred cut it, "doesn't sound overly vampy though, does it?"

" _Hemicorporectomy isn't common in vampire attacks, true. But that doesn't mean Cosmo the Cougar is out mauling unsuspecting joggers in Beacon Hills Preserve. My bet is that it's still supernatural in nature, we've just got to find out what."_

"I'm assuming we're wanting photos? Since the cops are involved I can't exactly drag the body back to home-base."

" _If you could."_

"Sure thing, Q,"

" _Good luck, Bond."_

Fred gasped, stopping short, "Oh my God! Did you just make a _joke_? How much tea have you had today? Quick, count backwards from fifty!"

" _No,"_ he replied with an indulgent chuckle, " _Stay safe, Love."_

"You know me - if I were any safer I'd be hidden away surrounded by bubble-wrap," Fred quipped before ending the call, tucking the phone back into her pocket after firmly flicking it onto silent.

Breaking into a brisk jog she started back towards the main entrance to the preserve, planning on listening-in on the cops and finding out what they knew first. The preserve was far too large for her to be running around blind this late at night, the clouds scudding across the sky increasing in that way that meant rain may be imminent. The sharp scent of ozone cutting through the haze of sap and wild jasmine. Slayers may be able to function on a minimal amount of sleep, but tomorrow was Fred's first day at school since halfway through Freshman year. She had enough to worry about when it came to interacting with teenagers who _weren't_ soldiers also, let alone being expected to do it while dead on her feet.

Mulling everything Kevin had told her over in her head, Fred was ninety-nine percent sure it wasn't a vampire. They weren't exactly into dismemberment unless it was ritualistic, and even then they weren't afraid to leave a trail of blood-drained bodies behind them. The smart ones tended to remove their victims teeth and light them on fire - not go all Jigsaw and request they play a game.

As caught up in her thoughts as she was, Fred didn't realise she was no longer alone until it smacked her right in the face.

No, seriously, she plowed face-first into someone's chest.

* * *

Stiles Stilinski huffed with exasperation as he waited for Scott to scramble up the bank behind him. Didn't his best friend realise how exciting this was? Nothing ever happened in Beacon Hills and now not only do they have a dead body - it's _half_ a dead body!

No matter what Scott said, Stiles knew that this was way more exciting and potentially rewarding than sitting at home watching lacrosse videos and giving up after his tenth push-up.

Granted, the sixteen year-old still wasn't one hundred percent certain on what he'd do if he actually _found_ this dead body. But that was a bridge he'd burn when he got to it. Despite his thoughts often running a mile a minute, Stiles didn't really think that far ahead.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet while he waited, Stiles tried to avoid looking too closely at the shadows clinging between the trees. His imagination turning every scrap of darkness into the villain of every horror film he'd watched in the last eight years. While he was moving it was okay. But now that he had stopped and the dark sky was growing even darker with fat heavy clouds lazily obscuring the moon moments at a time, he was coming to realise that maybe, just maybe, Scott had been right.

Only a crazy person would want to go to the place where a girl got literally ripped in half.

So when sounds of movement came from the opposite direction of Scott, Stiles' pulse ramped up to almost jackhammer volumes in his ears and his mouth fell open as someone _ran into him_.

Long fingers curled almost completely around thin arms to try and steady the person a moment too late, and Stiles all too quickly found himself flat on his back with a small body sprawled over him. There was a loud ringing in his ears, the heady smell of loam and pine thick in his nose, as he blinked to try and clear the rattling of his brain from where it collided against the forest floor. He tensed as slim fingers clenched the thin cotton of his shirt and lightly dug into his sides and the person rested their chin against his sternum.

Dark eyes gazed down his chest in shock, meeting the equally wide blue eyes of the girl half resting between his spread legs. She was pretty; blonde hair turned ghostly in the darkness as it fell over her face, shadows emphasising a pert nose and cupid's-bow lips. Despite himself his heart started a near galloping pace, to the point where he became quite fearful it would burst from his rib cage and into this girls face.

Stiles was no stranger to pretty girls. He'd been going to school with the prettiest girl to ever walk the earth since forever. Lydia Martin had all but ruined him for the allure of a pretty face seeing as seventy percent of his waking thoughts were dedicated to her. But very rarely did he have pretty girls laying on top of him with their hips pressed against his and their nails unconsciously tracing the dips of his ribs.

He could already feel heat blooming across the tops of his cheekbones and tips of his ears and both wanted to die and never move again.

"I can see up your nose," the girl blurted into the silence, her voice the chime of a bell forced into a jaded drawl and every muscle in his body stiffened. Her warm breath prickled the skin of his neck and face, she somehow smelled like vanilla and iron.

As quickly as she was on him, she was off, standing several feet away in less time than it took him to blink leaving the sound of crunching leaves loud in his ears. He watched as she breathed deeply and blew out hard enough it made her hair puff out around her face like a cloud.

Almost like an afterthought her eyes made contact with his and she blurted out a stilted, "I'm sorry."

And he proceeded to just stare at her, prone on the forest floor, completely unsure of how to handle this situation if it didn't turn out to be a hallucination. His hands were even still held awkwardly in the air like they were still wrapped around her arms. It seemed unlikely that he was even aware of that as he breathed heavily through his nose and tried to calm his racing pulse.

The further away she got the clearer his head became and he began to wonder why a teenage girl was out in the woods alone in the middle of the night. Completely disregarding the fact that he and his best friend were out in the woods alone in the middle of the night. He wanted to write her off as far as being the crazed killer ripping people in half - what with her being all five foot nothing and looking as though a strong enough breeze would carry her away - but if pop-culture had taught him anything it's that you can't judge a murderer on their appearance.

"Stiles!" Scott called out breathlessly from behind the girl as a beam of light swept haphazardly across them. "Next time you want to hunt for dead bodies, you're on your own!"

The girl looked over her shoulder towards Scott and then back to Stiles, seemingly conflicted about what to do. Every inch of her seemed at war with her fight-or-flight instincts in a way that piqued his curiosity even more. Who was she and what was she doing out here?

Stiles loved puzzles, and she seemed like a pretty big one.

There was the distinct sound of an inhaler being shaken before Scott took a puff and breathlessly demanded now that he was close enough to see his best friend, "Bro, what the Hell? How much Adderall did you take to make it seem like a good idea to make the _severe asthmatic_ sprint behind you up a _hill_?"

Once he had finished with what Stiles believed was a slightly uncalled for outburst, Scott seemed to realise that his friend wasn't exactly alone. "Uh, hi?" His voice was thick with confusion as he glanced between the two of them.

It was as though his acknowledgement of the girls existence was enough to finally shock Stiles into action, as he scrambled to his feet and straightened out his clothes with a nervous energy. One hand smoothing across the dark buzz-cut hair at the back of his head.

"Hi," the girl replied, her voice firm and clear, with a large smile that was probably intended to be friendly but came across more as a baring of straight white teeth.

"Hi," Scott repeated, scrunching his eyes together in obvious confusion. "Uh, Stiles?"

"Yeah buddy?" Stiles responded automatically, his eyes remaining narrowed on the girl who seemed more than she appeared.

"Who, uh, who's your friend?"

While the girls smile twitched at the word 'friend', Stiles stared blankly at his best friend until realisation dawned on his pale face. "My-my _friend_?" Red blotches bloomed high on his prominent cheekbones as he switched between staring at Scott and the girl so quickly that whiplash was becoming a legitimate concern. "Uh, yes! My-my-my… _friend_. Um-uh-yup! Scott, this is…?" He trailed off, staring at the girl expectantly with his hands still raised from where they'd been erratically waved around.

"Fred," she supplied, wiggling her fingers towards Scott in a way that was both facetious and adorable.

"Yes!" Stiles all but shouted. "This is Fred! Wait - _Fred_?" He stopped nodding his head and instead stared at her with his eyebrows raised questioningly. A girl named _Fred_. While he of course wasn't the leading expert on 'normal' names, it was still strange enough to warrant a raised eyebrow or two.

"Yes - Fred."

"Just Fred?" Stiles heard the note of annoyance in her voice as he questioned her name and just decided to steamroll right over it as was his wont.

"Just Fred," she confirmed while bobbing her head with an air of finality, Scott eyeing the whole exchange bemusedly.

Stiles being Stiles of course just had to push it that little bit more, insatiable curiosity getting the best of him once again. "...Short for?" he prodded.

"None of your business," Fred replied shortly, folding her arms in a way that suggested that the topic was most certainly closed.

"Nice to meet you, Fred," Scott smiled genuinely at her before shooting Stiles a look that he'd seen often enough to translate as ' _what the fuck bro?_ '. The fact that Stiles was used to this particular look probably didn't say anything complimentary about his ability to keep his mouth shut.

As he continued to demonstrate as he shook off the stupor being thrown to the ground by a pretty girl had caused and let suspicion - his Number Two Mode Of Being - take over.

"So whatcha doing out here, Fred?" he questioned with his arms crossed over his chest in an effort to stop his erratic fidgeting. His sneaker-clad foot continued to tap against the detritus covering the ground regardless.

"Late night jogging," Fred shrugged nonchalantly. As though it were commonplace for teenage girls to venture out into the woods to jog in the middle of the night. As though her parents had never given her the 'stranger danger' talk and she'd never watched a single horror movie in her entire life. And, as he'd already established to himself earlier, only a crazy person would be out in the woods in the middle of the night when a dead body had been found.

Stiles had to fight the urge to grab the flashlight off of Scott and shine it in her suspicious pretty little face. Instead he drawled an unconvincing, "Really?" while his eyes travelled down then up her body in a way that was less sexual - okay, a little sexual, he was sixteen - and more paid particular attention to her chunky black boots, jeans, and leather jacket. However his eyes did linger longer than necessary on the strip of pale skin revealed in the inch-long gap between her low-riding jeans and pink top.

Again, he was a sixteen year-old boy.

"Really." She repeated with a barely suppressed eye-roll. "I was jogging, remember? When I crashed into you? We landed, just over there?" Fred spoke slowly as she gestured to the disturbed ground next to them and pointedly eyed the dead leaves on his jacket. "Are you _sure_ you didn't hit your head?"

Ignoring her insinuation about his mental-state, Stiles instead asked, "Don't you have school tomorrow?"

"And you don't?" Fred shot back, a bite to her voice that warned him to stop pushing her if he knew what was good for him.

Unfortunately for Stiles however, his brain-to-mouth filter and sense of self-preservation had never exactly seen eye to eye.

As he opened his mouth once again to question her motives further - never minding the fact that he and Scott were also out roaming the woods the day before school started again - he was interrupted by the sudden barking of Beacon Hills canine finest.

Sharing a frantic glance with Scott who hurried to turn off the flashlight Stiles' thoughts became all-consumed with making sure that his father Did Not Find Them.

"Hide!" he hissed into the darkness as the search party drew closer, all annoyance disappearing into desperate fear. "If they find us my dad will _kill_ me!"

"Is someone afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?" Fred teased, smirking as his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in irritation.

Scott gently grasped her wrist and her entire body stiffened before she swung around with one fist raised, stopping short when she met his soft brown eyes. Stiles watched as he tugged her back down the hill he'd just finished climbing, shooting a look over his shoulder that conveyed just how much he Couldn't Get Caught.

Turning to make his own escape Stiles made it all of several feet before he stopped short at the sight of Starsky the German Shepherd baring glistening white fangs with a heavy growl rumbling in his chest. As no less than four flashlights were shone in his direction Stiles knew there was nothing left to do except cringe and wait for the inevitable.

"Stay right there!" An excitable deputy called out as the growls of Hutch joined his brother Starsky.

"Hang on, hang on," came the resigned voice of his father as he drew closer, "This little delinquent belongs to me."

The Sheriff of Beacon Hills had a look on his face that made Stiles curl up a little inside as he gestured to the people around them to lower their flashlights. A short whistle escaped his lips and Starsky and Hutch quit their growling and instead yipped happily up at the boy they'd known since puppies. Stiles knew better than to give in and scratch them behind the ears in the way they liked, however. Not with his father giving him the Neutral Face of Disappointment.

"Dad, how're you doing?" he asked instead with forced casualness as his dad came to a stop and dropped a hand heavily onto his shoulder.

"You, uh, listen in to _all_ my phone calls?" Sheriff Stilinski asked wearily, his blue eyes keen as they swept over his son for any signs of injury before returning to the increasingly guilty expression spreading across his face.

"No!" Stiles protested, after a pause admitting, "Not the boring ones."

Features smoothing out into world-weary resignation, finding it hard to even be surprised by his sons antics anymore, Sheriff Stilinski found himself asking, "And where's your usual partner in crime?"

"Who? Scott?" Stiles spluttered. "Scott's home. Said he wanted to get a good night's sleep before school tomorrow. It's just me. In the woods. Alone…"

Inside Stiles cringed. His story had that many holes in it it could be mistaken for curtain-netting.

"Scott, you out there?" Sheriff Stilinski called out, obviously not born yesterday and seeing through his sons flimsy lies. After a long moment of silence he tried again, "Scott!"

Being met by nothing but the ambient sounds of the woods at night being interrupted by the chatter and movements of his deputies, Sheriff Stilinski fixed his son with a stern look and the hand on his shoulder tightened.

"Well, young man, I'm gonna walk you back to your car and you and I are gonna have a conversation about something called 'invasion of privacy'."

Pained noises escaping his lips as his father all but frog-marched him away, Stiles hazarded a glance over his shoulder, hoping that Fred and Scott wouldn't suffer the same fate as the first few raindrops splattered against his cheeks and slid down the collar of his jacket.

A storm was coming.

* * *

 **A/N: HERE IT IS!**

 **I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has supported me during this rewrite. Special thanks to Cass (missjanuarylily) for being my excellent beta, and Heather (huntsthemoon) for giving me her opinion and keeping me sane throughout the writing process.**

 **I absolutely cannot wait to hear what you all think! While the main theme and story is the same, there are a few noticeable changes (the POV shift for one!) and I hope that they're for the better rather than the worst haha**

 **Happy reading,**

 **\- susiesamurai xo**


	2. Worst Slayer Ever

**Chapter Two**

 _ **Worst Slayer Ever**_

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or BTVS, nor do I earn any sort of profit from this work of fiction.

* * *

Once the sounds of the search party - and Stiles' pained complaints - had faded away, Fred glanced over at Scott crouched down next to her against the tree he had pulled her behind.

At this distance, she could make out more than just a mop of shaggy dark hair and white teeth. The sickly grey light filtered through the leaves gilding the edge of a crooked jaw. His skin appeared pale and she bet that in the summer it turned a deep bronze. He was hunched down in his hoodie, as though being caught was still a legitimate concern, and Fred nudged him with her shoulder before standing up.

Brushing the damp mulch from the seat of her jeans Fred made a low growl of annoyance as she pushed her wet hair out of her face. Of course, it would start to rain. Let's add a possible head cold on top of sleep-deprivation as another consequence of tonight's activities. That's what she deserved, apparently.

"Was he your ride home?" Fred managed to ask between her internal grumblings as she and Scott half slid-half walked down the hill.

"Yeah," Scott replied exasperatedly as he looked around him in an attempt to determine which direction led out of the woods and not further in.

"Exit's this way," Fred said as she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder to indicate the direction she meant, resigned to her fate as Scott's travel-guide for the foreseeable future. "Coming?"

Fred's priority number one had just shifted to getting Scott safely out of the Preserve on the off-chance something big, bad, and supernatural was running around ripping people in half. While the thought of doubling-back made irritation prickle its way across her skin, she just had to hope that it took the cops a while to locate the other half of the body.

It didn't help that her entire encounter with his friend Stiles - what the Hell kind of name was _that_ anyway? - had left her so wound up she wanted to punch something. She wondered if being able to instantly rub people the wrong way was a gift he was born with or a skill he'd honed through excessive use.

Breaking the silence Scott swung his big brown puppy-dog eyes in her direction and asked, "I haven't seen you around before. Are you new to town?"

"That's a big ten-four, good buddy," Fred quipped, "With powers of deduction like those, maybe you should be helping those upstanding paragons of the law instead of hanging around delinquents like me."

"Um, thanks? I think?" Scott blinked those big brown eyes down at Fred and his tone of voice made her gut twist in a decidedly unpleasant manner.

"My uncle and I moved here about two weeks ago now," she offered as an olive branch, hoping it would alleviate the guilt she felt at the hurt that had coloured Scott's voice. A hurt that suggested he was used to people making fun of him in ways that involved laughing _at_ him and not _with_ him.

"Oh cool. Where'd you move from?"

Thankfully, it seemed Scott was not the sort to hold a grudge, which instantly made him a nicer person than her in Fred's opinion. Pausing, she tried to determine just what to tell him. Trying to recall what Kevin had said their back-story was. He was her uncle and only living family? Which was uncomfortably close to the truth, actually. And they had just returned from Scotland where Fred had been on...exchange! However, Fred couldn't remember if she was allowed to mention San Francisco or Sunnydale and therefore came to the conclusion that it was safer to avoid them both until she had a chance to refresh with Kevin before school tomorrow.

"Scotland," Fred offered a twist of her lips that could be mistaken for a smile, "I've been there on an exchange program for the past three months. Afterwards, we felt like a fresh start and Beacon Hills fit the bill apparently."

"Scotland? That's cool," Scott grinned down at her, his breathing beginning to get slightly laboured, "I've never even left the state before."

"Well while Scotland was all rolling moors and morning fog straight out of a Bronte novel," Fred explained, "it was also cold as fuck. Give me dry, sunny California any day. No.," She paused to send a withering glare at the rain that continued to leisurely fall from the sky, "that it's living up to the hype right now of course."

Adjusting his hood after shaking a stubborn raindrop from the tip of his nose, Scott shot her a rueful grin, "You're not wrong. So, what year are you Fred?"

"Sophomore. You?"

Nodding he fished around in his pocket for his inhaler. "Same. Let me or Stiles know if you have any trouble getting around, it's the least we can do for almost getting you caught by the Sheriff during your… jog. And for Stiles being, well, Stiles."

A laugh barked out of her throat before she had the chance to suppress it, something about Scott breaking through the angry armour she had grown used to wearing like a second skin. It was both terrifying and...nice. The only other people who had managed to do that were Dawn and Kevin. Opening her mouth to reply she quickly snapped it shut as she came to an abrupt stop, tilting her head as the woods seemed to go unnaturally quiet except for the quiet pitter-patter of rainfall. A creaking came from above them and Fred went on high-alert as every hair on her body stood up, scanning their surroundings while unconsciously dropping into a fighting stance.

One could almost mistake the twisted limbs of the trees surrounding them for outstretched hands through the haze of rain. The thin shards of moonlight that were determined to squeeze between the clouds illuminated dead leaves and impossibly bright moss like spotlights. A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the stories her father would tell when she was a child. Of _Erlkönig_ , the Goblin King, and the _Wild Hunt_. Figures of myth that would snatch naughty children from their beds, lessons on not to trust beautiful strangers in the woods.

Despite the chill and goosebumps prickling her skin as thoughts of goblin kings and beautiful maidens ran wild through her mind, Fred scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all. Yes, she was a _vampire slayer_ and yes there was a high possibility that _Erlkönig_ did in fact exist. But not in Beacon Hills Preserve. She'd like to think that the legendary Goblin King at least had some taste. Despite how entertaining the David Bowie portrayal was.

"Uh, Fred?" Scott's voice was unsure and when she faced him it was easy to tell he was more than a little spooked. "You alright?"

"Fine," Fred chirped up at him with a smile that only seemed forty percent forced, "just thought I heard something." Grabbing his wrist she forced him to start walking faster, not liking the silence engulfing them one bit, "Come on, we're almost there."

Unnatural silences were not good. That meant there was something bad lurking around. Something scary enough that all the woodland creatures ran away and hid. Something maybe capable of ripping a human in half.

"That's-uh-quite the grip you've got there," he panted behind her, "think we could slow down a second?"

Fred let go of him with a start, not realising that she had started to exert a little Slayer strength and speed. "Sorry," she apologised while bright blue eyes continued to take in every undulating shadow. "I'm just a little wigged out I guess."

"I hear you," he agreed before wheezing. Shaking up his inhaler he brought it to his lips and took a puff.

That was when the ground started shaking.

Dozens of hooves hitting the forest-floor sounded like thunder to the two teenagers and seemed to echo from everywhere. When the first deer was within sight, Fred tackled Scott to the ground and lay half over him tucking her face into the curve of his neck and hunching her shoulders, arms thrown over his face. Her line of thought was that if she managed to get clipped in the back of the head, she'd eventually be fine. Maybe. She thought so, anyway. Fred still wasn't completely clear when it came to Slayers and head-injuries but she was definitely certain she'd fare better than delicate human Scott would.

Once the last deer had run off as suddenly as they'd appeared, Fred pushed herself up and off of Scott, rising to her feet in one fluid motion. "You okay?" she asked as she bent at the waist with a hand thrust out towards him.

Scott nodded affirmatively, eyes wide, and grasped onto her hand allowing Fred to tug him to his feet. He let out a breath of surprise at the strength behind the movement but didn't comment on it, instead frantically patting his pockets and saying, "My inhaler's gone!"

Grabbing the flashlight from where he'd dropped it, Fred tried turning it on only for it to flicker weakly before going out. "Great," Fred sighed. "Like I haven't seen this movie before. Can you last without it until you get home?"

"Probably," he answered, his phone already out and he was using it as a makeshift flashlight as he combed the dead leaves around them. "But it cost, like, eighty dollars and mom will _kill_ me if I've lost it. We can't exactly afford another one yet."

"Okay, okay." Cutting him off before he worked himself up even more, Fred raised her hands placatingly, "You look over there, I'll look over here, and we'll meet in the middle."

"Thanks," he smiled gratefully before continuing to shuffle through the wet leaves on the ground.

Pulling out her phone Fred used it as a flashlight also, sweeping the small glow of light across the ground in front of her on the lookout for a small piece of white plastic. They couldn't stay long. Something had spooked those deer and Fred didn't want Scott around to find out just what it had been. Raising her gaze she gave the immediate area around them a cautionary sweep but found only trees, shadows, and the sound of increasing rainfall.

When Scott made a strangled noise behind her, Fred spun around just in time to watch him stumble and trip head over ass down a hill.

"Scott!" Fred called out as she rushed over to what had spooked him, pulling up short as the light from her phone glinted off the wide unseeing eyes of a corpse.

It appeared that Scott had been the unlucky one to uncover the other half of the body. It was a girl, naked with long brown hair and chalky skin covered in bruises, bites, and claw-marks. She hadn't been gifted a peaceful death by any means, but it made Fred wonder if she was even human to have been able to put up enough of a fight to receive those wounds in the first place.

Glancing where Scott had fallen, Fred hurried to take a photo of the girl hoping that the flash on her phone would be good enough, before leaping over her and sliding down the hill after him.

A low growl reached her ears before she'd reached the bottom and all the hair on her body instantly stood on end. That growl didn't come from a cougar. Or even a wolf. It was guttural and layered in a way that stood apart from the natural predators of the animal kingdom. It was something more.

"Scott, run!" Fred shouted frantically as she sprinted towards where the boy was standing frozen while a hulking mass of shadows stalked towards him.

Terrified brown eyes locked onto hers just as the creature leapt on top of him.

Not slowing her momentum Fred ran headlong into it, arms going around it's sides in what could be mistaken for a hug as she tackled it and forced it off of Scott. Musk and blood hung heavy in her nostrils as they went tumbling to the ground, the force of their landing throwing them apart and Fred rolled to her feet in front of Scott.

Red eyes glowed at her from across the darkness as it shifted hulking shoulders beneath a layer of coarse fur. Large curved fangs glinted from beneath curled back lips, thick ropes of tinted red saliva dripping from their tips, and long talons dug into the soft earth beneath it. It was a werewolf. Boring Beacon Hills had a goddamned werewolf. And all Fred had was Mr Pointy and an asthmatic teenage boy.

"Scott," Fred's voice was low as she slowly backed towards where the boy was standing behind her, refusing to break eye-contact with the wolf.

"Run?" he wheezed, her shoulders stiffening as she detected pain thickening his voice.

"Run."

Fred listened to him take off behind her, sneakers sliding across wet leaves and mud, the wolfs head twitching toward the direction he went although it didn't break eye-contact. It was smart at least, it knew that Fred was a potential threat. Of course, a lucid werewolf would be even harder to defeat than one lost to the blood-lust. Fred just _could not_ understand how it could be fully shifted to begin with, the full moon not being until Friday. By everything she had learned about werewolves at Basic Training they only shifted for the full moon and two days leading up to it.

Something was _very_ wrong.

Adrenaline flooded through her and Fred bared her own teeth in a grin made for war as she shook a stake loose from her sleeve. Every nerve-end was singing as rain followed the curve of her jaw then dripped off of her chin at regular intervals. Once again the werewolf growled a warning and this time Fred responded by tilting her head and releasing a growl of her own. This was what she had been waiting for. This was what she had been sent to do.

Fingers wrapped firmly around the smooth wood in her hand she sprang forward.

Underestimating her speed, the werewolf didn't dodge quickly enough to avoid the tip of Mr Pointy running a jagged line over its ribs. With a howl of pain, it pivoted and a giant paw collided with Fred's chest, sending her flying to land hard on her back in a pile of mulch. Springing up to her feet she ignored the hot bloom of pain spreading across her collarbone and the sticky blood coating her fingers and dripping off the end of her stake. All her attention narrowed down onto the creature in front of her who was currently glaring at her with hate-filled eyes.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the rain, the soft sound of Fred's breathing, and the billows of steam that escaped the werewolfs maw with every rumbling growl.

Just when Fred felt so wound up with coiled tension she thought that she would snap, the werewolf turned and bounded away. Massive claws churning up deep tracks in the dirt as it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Standing still, Fred blinked water from her eyes as she watched the hulking black shape meld into the trees and haze of rain. When she was certain that this wasn't a trick, that the werewolf wasn't just circling around to attack her from behind, Fred allowed her muscles to relax with her stake falling limply to her side.

Everything came rushing back to her, hitting her like a wall as blood roared in her ears, and she became acutely aware of the pain burning its way across her upper chest. After wiping Mr Pointy clean with a leaf and a pained hiss sucked in between clenched teeth, she gently pulled away the torn edges of her shirt collar to inspect the three jagged lines drawn across her flesh. Hot blood continued to spill over the edges and stained her damp pink shirt red, the sharp metallic tang coating her tongue and throat with every breath.

"Fuck my life!"

Ignoring the burning sensation engulfing her chest Fred zipped up her jacket to her chin, covering any sign of injury, after cleaning the worst of the blood from her fingers on the hem of her shirt. It was time to find Scott. She had to make sure he was okay. It was the right thing to do as a Slayer, even though right now all she wanted to do was run home and sit in a hot shower until the shivering finally stopped.

Fred knew she had gotten off easy. That the werewolf had decided, for whatever reason, she wasn't worth the trouble of fighting an opponent who could fight back. And while Fred knew she should be thankful about not having to go toe-to-toe with a werewolf, armed only with a stake and not her longsword, she couldn't help but feel that the reason it hadn't stuck around was because it had already gotten what it had wanted.

She had to get to Scott.

As she broke through the treeline Scott narrowly avoided being hit by a car. The red SUV swerved around him, tires sliding on the wet blacktop, before continuing along and not even stopping to see if he was alright.

Rage turned her vision white as Fred screamed into the night, "You goddamned blind fuck! I hope you wrap yourself around a tree you alcoholic piece of shit!" During this she made several hand gestures that made Scott stare at her with wide eyes, both impressed and slightly intimidated.

Chest heaving as she clenched her fists at her sides and attempted to force the car off the road with the power of her brain, feverish fingers wrapped themselves around hers comfortingly. Coming out of her anger-induced haze Fred looked up to find Scott peering down at her with concern, hair plastered to his forehead and his crooked jaw trembling with every breath he took.

"You okay?" he asked between short heaving gasps, beginning to calm down now that she was there. "Those were some, um, pretty creative phrases."

Exhaling heavily through her nose Fred blinked away the raindrops clinging to her eyelashes, "I'm usually better but it was short notice." Scott barked out a short laugh that seemed to even surprise him and Fred felt the fierce expression melt into something softer as she asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah-yeah I think I am?" he answered through chattering teeth.

Tangling her fingers more firmly with his Fred led him to the side of the road, not keen on repeating any more possible encounters with careless drivers. This was not how she expected her night to end when she had set out that evening. Already the tremors were working their way through her body, muscles twitching and pulling from the stress they had been put under, nerve-endings screaming their displeasure over the untreated wounds on her chest. Memories teased the edges of her mind, brought to life by her encounter with the werewolf.

Pushing them aside, Fred gave Scott an almost convincing attempt at a comforting smile, "Come on - I'll walk you home."

* * *

"Kevin!" Fred shouted as she banged through the front door half-an-hour later after making sure Scott was home safe. "We've got a major problem, with a capital Pain In My Ass!"

Kevin stumbled down the hall and into the room, white oxford untucked from his black trousers and the dark lines of the stylized flames tattooed on his shoulder and arm showing through the fabric. Dark brows shot up as his handsome face paled at the sight of her dripping wet on the carpet, equally dark eyes narrowing in on the blood staining her trembling fingers. "You're hurt. What happened?" He demanded, large hands clenching at his sides as he fought the urge to forcefully inspect her for injury.

"Don't worry about me," Fred snarled as she struggled out of her jacket, the drying blood turning into a tacky substance that stuck to the satin lining like glue. "Scott's the one who's in danger."

"Scott?!" Kevin asked incredulously as he took in the state of his Slayer. He hadn't seen her this injured since Sunnydale, Fred always managing to keep any wounds to the minor type during Basic Training. And here she was toeing off her boots and walking unsteadily into the open-plan kitchen covered in blood like it was nothing.

He was all too suddenly reminded of the girl who would continuously climb to the tallest rafter in the Training Room just to drop down to practice how to fall from a height with a sword strapped to her back. Pale skin mottled blue, black and yellow. A determined grimace pulling a split lip tight enough that it began to bleed again. It made perfect sense that she treated being covered in blood as though it were nothing. Kevin's Slayer had spent three months conditioning herself to react to any injury as though it were a minor inconvenience.

Something that he worried about in regards to her actions if she ever got seriously injured.

"Yup," Fred popped the 'p', pouring a bowl of cereal and propping herself up onto the counter to eat it with only minor grimacing in pain and fumbling fingers. "And it's all my fault. Or your fault, I suppose." She shot him a look from beneath her lashes as she shovelled another spoonful of Lucky Charms into her mouth.

"My fault?" Kevin was nonplussed as he approached with the first-aid kit in hand and a glint to his eye that promised possible lectures ahead.

"Yup." She brandished her spoon at him. "Since he got bitten by a fucking werewolf while I was taking a photo of your dead girl." Fred threw her phone at him, glaring when he fumbled in catching it and almost dropped it on the floor. "There's your photo, Q. Now, what we need to figure out is why there's a werewolf running around Beacon Hills with the ability to shift on days that aren't the full moon."

"What?" Kevin's voice was sharp as he frowned at her words, looking up from the photo he had zoomed in on, temporarily distracted from nurse-duty. "What do you mean?"

"I _mean_ that I just went up against a goddamned werewolf a week before the full moon. You know, with the teeth, and the claws, and the glowing red eyes of hate?" Waving her spoon around flippantly, she gestured to the gouges in her chest, "Did I mention the claws?"

"But that's impossible!" Kevin looked back down at the photo, "What did it look like?"

"Like a big black wolf. With glowing red eyes," Fred stared at him. "Seriously, it was the size of an SUV. I tackled it full-force and only moved it, like, eight feet. Plus - it was lucid."

"Lucid?" His tone once again was sharp as he paused in pulling away the pieces of her shirt stuck to her bloodied skin. "How'd you know it was lucid?"

"We had a good old-fashioned conversation, I reminded him that animal fur was so last season," Fred flinched away as his ministrations pulled at the jagged edges of one cut. "Because I'm not dead, that's why! It let us go! What kind of blood-lust frenzied wolf-man lets the pretty blonde girl go after she rips his side open?" She shuddered, "And the way it looked at me… it was intelligent."

"And this...Scott?" Kevin inquired after he had finally won the battle in pulling away the pieces of her shirt and had proceeded to use a pair of tweezers to fish out any pieces of cotton stuck to the ragged edges of skin. Thankfully, her Slayer healing had started to kick in and he hoped they could get away with butterfly-stitches as opposed to old-fashioned sutures. Still, however, he needed to ensure the cuts healed clean and free of anything that may cause infection - regardless of how Fred flinched in pain at every tug he made.

"I think he got bit," Fred gazed over the top of Kevin's head, cereal bowl sitting forgotten at her hip. "He was a nice kid, even though I wasn't. He made sure I was alright and helped me hide from the cops so I wouldn't get in trouble. And then I went and got him attacked by a werewolf!"

Fred's sudden wailing made Kevin appear very uncomfortable - Watcher training didn't exactly cover how to comfort upset teenage girls, although it probably should. And Fred was upset, more than she thought she would be in all honesty. Scott had told her that he was okay, but she had noticed the way he favoured his side and kept tugging his hoodie down unnecessarily. The kid had gotten bitten.

And it was all. Her. Fault.

"I'm a shit Slayer," Fred informed Kevin matter-of-factly, waving her spoon around to emphasise her words. "Graduated top of my class, my ass. I'm here barely two weeks and some kid gets bitten by a werewolf while I'm standing there holding Mr Pointy and reacting a moment too late. Couldn't even save my friend."

"Scott's your friend?" Kevin asked bemusedly, having finished with the tweezers and moved onto antiseptic wipes that made Fred's eyes prickle with tears. "Didn't you only meet him tonight?"

"Well, he's a prospective friend!" Fred corrected. "A possible friend. A friendly acquaintance with the ability to become more. Except he's _not_ anymore because I got him turned into a fucking werewolf!"

The room went quiet as both occupants stared at the spoon quivering across the room where she'd accidentally embedded it in the kitchen wall.

"Um...I'll-uh-fix that," Fred promised with a wince.

Pausing in his ministrations Kevin straightened so they were eye to eye. When Fred kept averting her gaze every which way he firmly gripped her chin and dragged them almost nose to nose. "Now you listen here, love. This isn't your fault. I understand that you are a five-foot-one walking guilt-trip, but you're going to have to trust me on this and stop blaming yourself. All we can do now is keep an eye on the kid and see if he turns. And the best way to do that is to be his friend. So there you go."

"They either turn or they die," Fred's voice was soft as she watched the tentative grin on his face soften. The young Slayer was totally conflicted. She was a Slayer, he was a werewolf. If Scott hurt anyone she would be forced to deal with him, regardless of the fact that he was a nice guy. Was slaying something that was caused by an infection like Lycanthropy a little bit different to something caused by a demonic curse such as Vampirism? Was it still even slaying? Or was it starting to err on the side of murder.

Goddamned shades of grey, Fred often missed the days of her childhood when the world was more black and white.

"Then I better start researching this new type of werewolf so we can help him, eh?" Kevin shrugged, letting her know that they wouldn't be abandoning Scott to whatever plans the wolf in the preserve had for him. "Now hold still, I'm almost finished."

After what Fred felt was a torturously long time of Kevin meticulously trying to kill her via antiseptic, he finally allowed her to shower with a waterproof gauze pad covering the majority of her upper chest. Apparently, he didn't spend all that time applying butterfly-stitches only for her to wash away all of his hard-work. Pretending to ignore the look that she levelled his way, Kevin had said his goodnights while focusing on tidying up their makeshift medical centre.

Now alone in the shower, hot water stinging where it hit her cold skin, Fred attempted to feel something other than anger.

Shoulders shaking with silent sobs she ducked her head under the water, masking the equally hot tears spilling down her cheeks. Moving so the spray hit between her shoulders Fred blinked up at the ceiling as she pushed her hair back off her face and smoothed it down her neck. Hot pain lanced through her chest with every movement. Despite all of Kevin's hard work to patch her up, Fred found herself purposely moving more than necessary. Every burning flare a reminder. A punishment she deserved for failing.

Although she would have denied it profusely, when Fred had moved here there was a small voice that whispered no one would like her. That she'd have no friends and would have to eat lunch alone in the library with Kevin. That she'd be completely behind in all of her classes.

Not that she'd accidentally get one of her classmates potentially turned into a werewolf.

Before Sunnydale, before the Bringers and the First Evil and the end of her life as she knew it, Fred had been a happy teenage girl. A newly minted cheerleader, part of the 'popular' crowd with a few friends that while fair-weather were still fun. Awkward was not a thing that Fred could ever admit to being. Life had come easily to her, the daughter of a professor who had dedicated his life to folklore and a homicide detective who lived in Pacific Heights. Their murders had been high-profile enough that it had taken a lot of time and effort to sweep it under the rug. Something that Fred felt guilty about every day.

Guilt and anger seemed to be the only emotions that managed to cut through the haze she had been moving through. There were fleeting moments of clarity. Moments where everything was sharp and loud and clear. Where even the air of her skin reached an intensity that felt like thousands of knives. When the fog would lift and for that brief pocket of time she was herself again. But all too quickly it would pass. Guilt that was starting to feel like an old friend would settle itself on her shoulders like a cloak. Anger burning hot and constant beneath her breast the only thing keeping her warm as she attempted to pick up the pieces.

Standing alone in the steam with blood stubbornly clinging beneath her fingernails and the taste of failure bitter on her tongue, Fred couldn't help but feel like the worst Slayer ever.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **As always huge thanks to missjanuarylily for betaing this trash dump and turning it into something magical lol**

 **Much thanks to everyone who reviewed - yourpalmoony, daystorm, huntsthemoon, dreamerwithapen, corahaale, lil miss sunshine14, allthatpurpleprose, and werewitchling. Honestly, it meant the world to me.**

 **Let me know what you all think of this one!**

 **\- susiesamurai xoxo**


	3. Grumpiness Was Expected

**Chapter Three**

 _ **Grumpiness Was Expected**_

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or BTVS, nor do I earn any sort of profit from this work of fiction.

* * *

 _Balloons fell from above like like red, blue, and silver rain piling up on the gymnasium floor._

 _A disco ball scattered colours across the darkened room like sunlight bouncing off of a crystal in a window. Yards of silver fabric were strung across the cavernous room like spiders-silk. A soft lilting tune wrapped itself around her and Fred found herself swaying along with it, hair brushing back and forwards across her bare shoulders with the movement._

 _The dance-floor was occupied by two couples: Scott was slow-dancing with a pale brunette, both of them completely lost to the world. Standing as close as was socially acceptable their noses brushed while they smiled softly at each other. Elsewhere, Stiles danced with his hands on the tiny waist of a beautiful redhead that kept at least a foot of space between them at all times as he gazed down at her blissfully._

 _Looking down Fred found herself dressed in white, hands fisting in and shaking out a million layers of tulle that made it impractical for fighting. However, it was beautiful. It seemed like something from another life, another girl. Hands like hers were no longer meant for such things._

 _Slowly she became aware of someone sitting next to where she sat halfway up the bleachers. Turning she saw high wide cheekbones and large green eyes beneath straight dark brows. His short black hair was tousled and his broad shoulders filled out the leather jacket he was wearing._

" _You can't save everyone," his voice was a low rumble and his face was sympathetic as he gazed down at her._

" _Of course I can," Fred stubbornly told him, not appreciating that he was implying she wasn't strong enough. Even if he was beautiful - he was wrong. She was strong enough. She couldn't lose anyone else. Wouldn't fail again._

" _No, you can't."_

 _To her left was another boy, his expression soft even though his features were sharp and chiseled by Michelangelo himself, sad blue eyes meeting hers._

 _Standing, Fred spun to pin them both with a glare while her skirts flared out and around her like mist. "I'm the hero. That's what heroes do - we save everyone."_

 _Even as she said the words, Fred realised how naive they were. What was it? The heroes are always stalwart and true, the villains are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and heroes always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everyone lives happily ever after._

 _It was a pretty lie._

 _On the dancefloor a large black shadow was circling the oblivious teenagers, glowing red eyes locking onto Fred with laser focus. A shudder ran through her and something heavy settled in her stomach. All too quickly the atmosphere changed from ethereal to sinister. Shadows growing heavier and undulating like bodies caught in rapture. Everywhere the light reflected glistened crimson, like rubies spilling across the floor._

" _You have a choice ahead of you," the dark haired man told her._

" _But will you be able to make the right decision when the time comes?" The blue eyed boy asked._

" _Choose correctly and everyone lives."_

" _In death, sacrifice."_

 _While Fred was distracted, their cryptic warnings muddling her brain, the wolf had stopped circling the teenagers on the dancefloor and had instead begun to silently pad up the bleachers towards her. Dark red bloomed across her dress like a flower, a blinding flash of white-hot heat engulfing her midsection. Hands pressing tight while blood ran over her outstretched fingers the music rose to an all encompassing crescendo in her ears._

 _With a snarl and a glimpse of caramel coloured hair, the wolf leapt at Fred's throat._

* * *

Fred awoke with a newfound hatred for prophetic dreams.

"Fred!" Kevin called through the door. "Up and at 'em, love!"

Rolling over Fred buried her face in her pillow and moaned her frustration. Eventually she lifted her head, face red from lack of oxygen, and levered herself upright. Images from her dream still flickered across her vision, tricking her into thinking her room was filled with balloons. Or the light filtering through her blinds turned into beams off of a disco-ball. The disorientation that followed prophetic dreams only served to fuel her bad mood.

Today was her first day at school, grumpiness was expected.

Pulling up in front of the school, Kevin let Fred out at the front entrance before continuing around to the faculty parking lot. He had gotten a job at the high school as a librarian - the exact same thing that Giles had done with Buffy once upon a time. It was so he would be more easily accessible if anything happened according to him, Fred however suspected his inherent Britishness needed him to be around as many books as possible at all times.

Standing on the sidewalk the campus looked like almost any high school in California. Large and made of red brick with white trim, a tidy quad scattered with dead leaves courtesy of the trees dotting the lawn and wooden benches, and groups of teenagers catching up after the winter break. Throwing her shoulders back and tossing her hair Fred made her way up the front walk, ignoring the curious glances and whispers that followed her.

Once upon a time she had thrived on the attention. Putting extra bounce in her step, sway to her hips. Anything to make the red and white skirt of her cheerleading uniform tease at a hint of what was hidden underneath. Now she walked with purpose, heavy boots hitting the pavement, pink lips in a firm line rather than a flirty smile. This was the armour she had donned. A hint of the Slayer slipping through.

Teeth and claws might make her sore, but words could hurt forever.

Dropping down onto the small stone wall next to the front steps, Fred peered down at her denim-clad knees in deep thought about what Kevin had told her about the werewolf she'd encountered the previous evening. Turned out that they were dealing with a sub-species of the classic werewolf previous Slayers had dealt with, more of a shape-shifter that was somewhat coherent during the full-moon with the ability to shift at will. Her particular werewolf being an Alpha, due to its red eyes, with the eyes of the more common Betas being gold.

It all sounded terribly _Twilight_ to her.

"That is freaking awesome!" Fred looked up to witness Stiles' excited outburst, gesticulating wildly. "I mean this has seriously got to be the best thing to happen to this town since…" He trailed off distractedly and Fred's eyes widened as the redheaded girl from her dream strutted past, her short plaid skirt swaying teasingly with every step. "...since the birth of Lydia Martin. Hey Lydia!" he said enthusiastically to the girl who continued past him, a small smirk on her face being the only acknowledgement that she knew someone was speaking to her. "You look like… you're gonna ignore me. Again." The mixture of frustration and yearning in his voice stirred something dangerously close to pity in Fred as she watched him staring after Lydia.

Well, until he stomped his foot and turned to Scott and accusingly stated, "You're the cause of this, you know?"

"Uh huh?" Scott's response was indulgently well practiced.

"Dragging me down to your nerd-depths. I'm a nerd by association." Fred raised her brows at his words, the ringing bell covering the laugh of disbelief that escaped her lips. "I've been Scarlet-Nerded by you."

No bell sounded to cover Freds laugh the second time.

Both heads of dark hair swung in her direction, Scott smiling nervously and Stiles staring with his mouth gaping open. Grinning at the two from behind dark Wayfarers Fred wiggled her fingers in greeting, before tilting her head and tapping a finger against her wrist in the universal gesture for running late. Scott raised his hand in greeting also and then grabbed Stiles by the jacket and dragged him inside since the pale boy simply continued to gaze dumbly at her.

 _What a weirdo_.

Scott's nervousness was understandable. He'd had the night to process what had occurred in the woods and was probably struggling to believe that Fred had tackled a giant wolf off of him. Stiles' reaction however was definitely strange and she decided to chalk it up to just general lack of interaction with the female gender.

These musings were interrupted when someone sat down next to Fred and she turned to see a pretty face dominated by large brown eyes and a shy smile. A delicate hand pushed her heavy fall of dark hair back behind one ear and the dimples in her cheeks made her appear younger than she probably was. "Um, hi?" She said in a soft voice, her nerves making the statement a question.

It was the girl Scott had been dancing with in her dream.

"Hi," Fred replied, covering up her surprise at recognising her with a smirk. "Take a seat, we can be new girls together. Maybe, with the two of us we could make one not-new girl."

A tinkling laugh escaped her as she relaxed slightly, the sound making Fred instantly recollect every Disney Princess movie she had ever watched as a child. "Is it that obvious?" she asked in the same sheepishly sweet manner Fred would expect from Snow White.

Fred raised her eyebrows, "Well, the biggest giveaway is that you're out here with me as opposed to being in there with them," she gestured towards the building looming over them. "That, and you're projecting the nervousness that I'm desperately trying to cover up with big sunglasses and quips."

This time her laugh was a little louder, a little stronger, "I didn't want to comment on the glasses, but the quips seem to be working just fine."

"Trust me," Fred leaned forward conspiratorially, blue eyes sparkling with mischief as her glasses slid down her nose. "Beneath this well made-up veneer of blonde hair and witty banter there is a trembling girl who is freaking out over the possibility of tripping over on the way to her desk or that she remembered everything but a pen."

Face paling considerably the girls pretty pink mouth formed an almost comical 'O' and she began frantically rifling through the large purse on her lap. "Oh my God, I forgot a pen!" Her voice was thin with anxiety and the faintest thread of guilt ran through Fred at the possibility of being the cause of it.

Pulling her messenger onto her lap also Fred began rummaging through the contents: journal. Chewing gum. School books. Hair brush. Stake. Back-Up - her butterfly knife. Phone. And… the sparkly pink pen with the pom-pom end that Dawn had given her as a joke with her dream journal. Of course that was the only pen she had decided to pack this morning in her post-prophetic dream fugue.

Gingerly holding the pen between her fingers, as though it were a venomous creature set to bite, Fred looked at the girl sympathetically. "You can borrow this if you want?" She offered. "I'm sure I can grab one off someone else."

Shaking her head, hair swaying around her gracefully, she replied not unkindly, "No that's alright, I'll source my own. Thanks though."

"I'm Fred, by the way," she told her, not blaming her one bit for turning down the pen. God, she was trying to do the same by pawning it off on her.

"Allison," She replied warmly.

"And I'm Mr Pointon," A jovial male voice addressed from behind them and Fred smirked as Allison jumped at the unexpected sound. "I'm so sorry to have kept the two of you waiting - although it's nice to see you both getting along. You must be Allison Argent," He addressed Allison first who had gracefully risen to her feet. Turning he continued, "And that makes you Wi-"

"Fred," She cut him off with a firm voice as she bounced to her feet, narrowly avoiding her full name being shared. "Nice to meet you, sir."

While seeming a bit perplexed about being interrupted, Mr Pointon powered on regardless, "Well, welcome to Beacon Hills - both of you. I'm sure you're both a bit nervous, but as luck would have it you're both in the same first period class - if you'll just follow me?"

"Absolutely," Allison chirped and both girls followed him into the school.

"So, Allison," Mr Pointon began conversationally, obviously finding her the more easily approachable of the two. "You were saying earlier that San Francisco wasn't where you grew up?"

"No, but we lived there for more than a year - which is unusual in my family," Allison admitted, casting a glance at Fred who hid her automatic flinch at the mention of San Francisco with a sardonic twist of her lips.

"And you...Fred? You spent the last semester on exchange in Scotland, didn't you? That must have been quite exciting for a Sophomore."

"That's right, sir," She confirmed as she stored her sunglasses safely in her bag. "It was very…" Educational on the subject of slaying supernatural creatures and stopping impending apocalypses - _apocalypsi?_ "...Scottish."

"Well, hopefully the two of you will settle into Beacon Hills smoothly," His voice was reassuring, a raised eyebrow the only indication he had found her answer about her exchange trip odd at all. That being said, Fred wasn't wrong. Scotland was very Scottish. "Here we are," Mr Pointon announced, throwing open a door to their right.

Expecting to feel even the slightest bit of anxiety as she took in the classroom of students swinging their heads in unison to stare at the newcomers, Fred instead just felt strangely underwhelmed. A glance to the side showed that Allison unfortunately didn't share her sudden dispassion and the reassuring twist of her lips fell short of the mark. Anger rose in the back of her throat and her eyes surveyed her new classmates with an intensity that made more than a few glance away.

"Class, please welcome our new students - Allison Argent and…" he eyed Fred and thought better of saying her full name, "...Fred Ackerman. Do your best to make them both feel at home. Mr Neske, I leave them in your capable hands." Mr Pointon nodded amicably to the squat red-faced man by the board, his glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose before taking his leave and closing the door behind him. Both girls stared expectantly at the man in the maroon Oxford and beige sweater-vest and he indicated the back right corner of the room with a jerk of his head, "Girls, go take your seats," He said not unkindly.

Sharing a glance, Fred allowed Allison to go ahead believing that the taller girl needed to control where she sat more than Fred did. Plus, what would a little magnanimity cost her? If anything, it may gain her a friend - something she desperately wanted as much as she denied it. And then she discovered who the last two seats were set behind. One was behind Scott, and Allison was making a beeline straight for it, leaving the seat that was diagonally behind hers and next to the window right at the back of the class behind… Stiles.

The lanky boy with the dark-brown buzzcut and mole-speckled face stared dumbly at Fred yet again. However, this time his throat bobbed with a nervous gulp as his eyes ran down her length and once again lingered at the inch of skin on display between her low-riding jeans and lacy white shirt. Blue eyes narrowing - she'd only heard him pining over Lydia Martin not even twenty minutes earlier and now he was checking her out? - Fred purposely bumped his desk with her hip as she passed by, jolting the arm he was leaning against the desk as his hand cupped his jaw. With a dull thud his chin smacked into the desk.

Smirking, Fred smothered her soft sniggering as she dropped into the chair behind him and pretended not to notice as he turned around to glare at her rubbing the red mark on his chin. It was the little things in life that got people by, and she had a feeling this would get her through at least until lunch.

Out of the corner of her eye, Scott swivelled around in his chair and offered a pen towards a blushing Allison with a shy smile and big puppy-dog eyes. She accepted it, ducking her head as he slowly spun back around to face the front of the class. When she glanced Fred's way Allison scrunched her nose up with an embarrassed smile in response to the blonde's wink, shaking her hair forward to hide the delicate pink blush blooming against her cheeks.

* * *

High school had not yet managed to chew Fred up and spit her out.

Despite math being one of her least favourite subjects, as she sat chatting to a cute boy who had introduced himself as 'Danny' she had hope that maybe it wouldn't be that bad. He was in the middle of telling her that she should feel free to sit with him and his friends at lunch, and that he'd walk her to her locker first to drop off some books since it was two down from his, when they were interrupted.

"Hey, Jackson," Danny greeted the boy as he dropped into the seat in front of him.

"Danny," Jackson had returned, eyes on Fred as his lips quirked up into an arrogant smirk. He was the type of boy who was well aware of how attractive he was and wasn't afraid to flaunt it. The rolled up sleeves of his light plaid button-up strained against biceps he obviously worked very hard on and his dark blonde hair was styled straight out of a magazine. His blue eyes scanned Fred from bottom to top and she must have passed whatever test he was giving her since he asked Danny, "Who's your friend?"

"This is Fred," Danny introduced with a warm smile. "She's one of the new girls as well as this years locker-buddy. Fred, this is Jackson - my best friend."

"Hi," Fred waved her stupid pink pen in his direction, not missing the amused look in his eyes as the pom-pom wobbled back and forwards. For a moment the scene shifted, Jackson instead gazing at her sadly in a sharp black tux, before disappearing with a blink. "Ready for a fun-filled lesson of games and frivolity?"

"Fred _really_ doesn't like math," Danny confided to Jackson. "It was actually the first thing she said to me."

"No," Fred corrected him. "The first thing I said to you was 'is anyone sitting here'. Then I proceeded to wax poetic on my hatred of anything involving counting past the number ten because that's the amount of fingers I have. Also, that I hoped you were good with numbers because I have keen eyesight and a blurry moral compass."

Jackson let out a bark of laughter at her words. "I like her," He informed Danny while pointing a finger in Fred's direction.

" _She_ is so relieved," Fred drawled, "Now _she_ can sleep easy tonight."

"You just received the Jackson Whittemore seal of approval. Second only to the Lydia Martin seal of approval," Danny intoned dramatically with a grin tugging the corner of his lips at the scowl Jackson's face had settled into at Fred's flippant reply.

Sighing dramatically Fred confessed, "And here I thought I'd flunked the written."

Both boys laughed, Jackson's only coming across as mildly forced as he said, "Wait til you meet Lydia."

From everything Fred had heard about Lydia Martin since she awoke this morning, she felt that she could stand to wait to meet her a little longer.

* * *

Entering the cafeteria with Danny and Jackson on either side of her ensured that Fred had the attention of eighty percent of the rooms population.

Scott and Stiles were sitting together at a table on the other side of the room, Scott's eyebrows scrunched in confusion at seeing Fred with the two boys. Stiles was once again staring at her dumb-founded with his mouth wide open. Raising a hand Fred waved at the two of them - well, Scott - her nose scrunching up for a split-second as the only betrayal to how uncomfortable she was with the attention she was receiving. It was as they were approaching the table where Lydia was sitting with the rest of what Fred assumed were the 'Cool Kids' with their trays of food that she looked out the window and spotted Allison sitting at one of the benches outside alone.

Starting to veer off from the path that she'd been set upon, Fred stopped short when Jackson pinned her with a questioning glance.

"Actually guys, I'm gonna have to take a raincheck," Fred explained to the two boys who stared down at her incredulously. As though it were unheard of to pass up an opportunity to sit with them. Mean Girls references ran abundant through Fred's head and she physically had to bite down the urge to laugh as she pictured Jackson dressed head to toe in pink. "I'm already spoken for this lunch period."

With a smile and a wiggle of her fingertips Fred left the two boys staring after her with matching bemused expression as she made her way outside to Allison. Not a hint of regret was felt about choosing her over the _cool kids_ , a sign that Fred had definitely changed from the person she used to be.

With Jackson and Danny it had been easy to slip back into that old persona, a bubblegum princess with just enough sass to be interesting. But the anger and bitterness that clouded her edges kept a tight fist around that girl's throat. Her sassy remarks more scathing than intended, playful insults erring on this side of mean. It reminded her that cool kids and popularity weren't for her anymore, and trying to keep up the illusion would stretch her so thin she might finally snap.

It was soon apparent that Allison Argent had been the better choice as the two girls discussed how their days had been proceeding since they'd been parted. Allison going so far as to tease Fred about sacrificing the possibility of becoming popular by choosing her - Fred scoffing and rolling her eyes so hard Allison also commented on the possibility of them ejecting from her eye-sockets and hitting Jackson Whittemore in the forehead.

That was the moment that Fred realised that there was more to sweet Disney Princess Allison Argent than met the eye. Beneath the sugar-dusted curve of her smile there was a strength that was different to the blonde Slayer's.

Fred was all sharp edges covered by kid gloves. Allison Argent was a jaw-breaker, sugary sweet until you bit too hard and broke your teeth.

Between bites of slightly over-fried potato Fred discovered that Allison had moved to Beacon Hills due to her fathers job - being extremely vague about what exactly he did and instead waving her hand around and spitting out 'security' like it was a bad word. The other girl seemed highly disenchanted by her imposed nomadic lifestyle. Only speaking positively when she described her mother's job as a buyer for a boutique in San Francisco with a highly romantic gleam to her dark eyes. Fred had managed to hide her surprise at discovering that Allison had attended her very same high school. Taking an extra-large gulp of water as she described the very people Fred had once been friends with.

A sharp pain bloomed insistent beneath her breast, Fred unconsciously pressing her fingers against her ribs as though it were physical. The type of pain that one could soothe with soft touches. Once again images rose up, bubbling between the cracks of the box she kept them locked in. Her hand was firm however, and Fred kept that lid shut tight as she nodded along to Allison's light-hearted story about her aunt Kate.

Now was not the time for old wounds to spill her guts across the Beacon Hills High picnic tables.

When it was her time to share, to bond, Fred kept the other girl at arms-length with witty turns of phrase and anecdotes that held as much weight as a feather. Glossing over her time spent in Scotland she simply described Kevin as her librarian uncle who consumed an ungodly amount of tea. Dawn was an absent minded remark tacked onto the end of a joke about sharing a room with five other girls at 'boarding school'. By the end of the lunch period Fred had learned a substantial amount about her new friend, while Allison left feeling as though she had somehow been cheated but having no evidence to back that claim up.

The afternoon was spent together with Scott and Stiles, both boys somehow managing to claim the lab station behind the girls in Chemistry. And then again the seats in front of them in Economics. One could have almost claimed divine intervention if it weren't for the fact that Fred witnessed Stiles purposely trip a boy who had made the poor choice of bee lining to the seat in front of Allison. Stiles had pointedly avoided her questioning gaze, the tips of his ears colouring when he took in the curve of her amused brow, as he dropped heavily into the seat in front of her with his shoulders hunched.

Fred hadn't been allowed much time to dwell on it as the econ teacher launched into his start of year monologue. It was as though she had been transported into a show on MTV. Coach Finstock was a very passionate, very intense, very high-strung man. Not to mention more than a little inappropriate in the comments he made towards his very adolescent students. Despite all that she found him simply hilarious and even though her interest in the subject was bordering zero, he was slowly wriggling his way into her heart as Fred's favourite teacher.

Unlike their Chemistry teacher, Mr Harris.

Mr Harris was the sort of man that one grew into when they were a precocious child who turned out to be a simply mediocre adult. The type of man who lived out petty high school revenge plots on undeserving students. Like Stiles, who seemed to be the main recipient of the older man's snide comments to the point that Fred felt as though she were front row to the destruction of his self-esteem. And while the twitchy boy hadn't made the best first-impression on her, a nice guy like Scott wouldn't be best friends with him if the kid had zero redeeming qualities. He didn't seem like the kind of person to follow just anyone out into the woods in the middle of the night to search for dead bodies.

* * *

At the end of the day an exhausted Fred found herself next to Allison while she rummaged around in her locker, impressed by the sheer amount of items the other girl had managed to hoard already in one day. During this Fred made an effort to avoid the puppy-dog eyes Scott was shooting Allison from across the hall, letting her have her moment as Allison shyly smiled over at him. Fighting the urge to slump against the lockers behind her, Fred struggled to remember if school had always been this draining. If maybe it was only with the weight of her supernatural responsibilities weighing her down instead of the mass of textbooks in her bag that she was finally realising it.

And after spending an entire day skillfully avoiding any interaction with Lydia Martin, the girl in question decided to give Fred a heart-attack.

"Your shirt - not bad."

The stunning redhead tilted her head to the side as she pointed one perfectly manicured finger in Fred's face, her large mossy eyes calculating and her glossy full lips arranged into the perfect pout. Glancing down at the shirt in question Fred raised incredulous eyes to meet the other girls gaze, "Gee, thanks."

Ignoring the barely leashed hostility behind her words, Lydia dismissed Fred and instead turned to Allison and subjecting her to the same scrutinization before being seemingly content with what she saw. "That jacket is absolutely killer," She informed Allison as her fingers played across the perfect curls falling across her chest, "Where'd you get it?"

Allison stared at her, lost for words, until her mouth caught up with her brain and she answered, "My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco." She gripped the strap of her bag just a little bit tighter and Fred felt a pinch of annoyance at the way Lydia had intimidated her new friend.

"And you are my new best friend," Lydia informed her, pointing at Allison as her lips slowly spread into a hungry smile.

Fred shrugged her shoulders bemusedly at the helpless look Allison threw her way - what was she supposed to do about it? Before Fred could even consider saying anything Jackson moved up behind Lydia and curled an arm around her tiny waist, pulling her flush as they shared a deep kiss that made both Fred and Allison uncomfortable to witness.

"Jackson, these are our new friends - Allison and Fred," Lydia looked up at him through ridiculously long lashes. "Allison's from San Francisco and Fred just got back from Scotland," She added when Jackson just grinned at the unnerved look on Fred's face - Lydia had done her research on them and that didn't sit well with the naturally suspicious slayer.

"I already know, Lyds," Jackson smiled indulgently at his girlfriend. "Fred's in my math class with Danny."

"So!" Lydia stated, ignoring her boyfriend. "This weekend, there's a party!"

"A party?" Allison's voice had once again taken on that same thin reedy quality she had used this morning while looking for a pen.

"It's Friday night," Jackson added, "You both should come."

"Uh...I-uh-I can't," Allison shook her head and avoided eye-contact with everyone as she shuffled her boots. "It's Family Night this Friday. Thanks for asking."

Family Night was complete and utter bullshit, and the look Fred shot her said that Allison wasn't fooling anyone. It appeared she had finally found someone who was just as inept at lying as herself. It was strangely comforting and she knocked her shoulder against the taller girls arm in a show of support.

"Well, you need to at least," Jackson pinned Fred with a challenging gaze, almost daring the girl to decline. "Everyone's going after the scrimmage."

"You mean like football?" Allison asked, her face lighting up with interest.

"I love football," Fred said at the same time, perking up. Memories of sitting on her father's lap when she was young, taking bets on who would win that years Superbowl, filled her mind with a dreamy pastel haze. Unbeknownst to her, a wistful expression passed over her face.

Jackson scowled at them, "Football's a joke in Beacon," He scoffed. "The sport here's lacrosse. We've won the championship for the last three years."

Still caught up in visions of her father Fred blurted out, "Are you sure lacrosse isn't the joke? I feel as though I'm waiting on a punchline that never comes."

Next to her Allison turned a choked laugh into a smothered cough, while the Power Couple before them attempted to light Fred on fire with the power of their gazes alone.

That same challenging look settled into Jackson's features again as he gave Fred the same kind of smile a wolf would give a fawn before pouncing. Little did he know that Fred was not a fawn, but a wolf in her own right. One that would not be afraid to tear out throats of her own.

"We have practice in a few minutes," Jackson offered with a raised eyebrow, "If you don't have anywhere else to be then perhaps I could change your opinion?"

"Well I was going to -" Lydia didn't allow Allison to finish her excuse this time as she linked their arms together. The arm she linked with Fred pulled tight, the only giveaway that she was displeased with the ease of Fred and Jackson's banter. A glance from the corner of her eye reminding the blonde girl of just who the blue-eyed jock belonged to.

"Perfect! You're both free and you can keep me company on the stands," Lydia's smile was sickly sweet and her saccharine voice brokered no arguments.

Sliding her arm from Lydia's grasp, Fred gestured before them with a flourish, "Well, by all means then - lead the way."

* * *

AN:

As always thank you to my beta missjanuarylily and huntsthemoon for dealing with my clinging validation seeking ass.

And a massive thank you to everyone who took the time to review this chapter! I appreciate each and every one of them - darknesswithin6277, DayStorm, Fiercely Little, KaterinaStark.

I hope you enjoyed this one also and can't wait to hear what you thought of Fred's first day at BHHS =)

\- susiesamurai xoxo


	4. Churros Are The Way To My Heart

**Chapter Four**

 _ **Churros Are The Way To My Heart**_

Disclaimer: I do not own BTVS or Teen Wolf, nor do I earn any form of income for this work of fiction.

* * *

Running around the field were the boys of the Beacon Hills lacrosse team, clad in their padding and maroon girls were huddled together for warmth from their perch in the bleachers.

Striding through the mass, broad shouldered and cocksure, Jackson was in his element.

Although many people would claim that all of his achievements had been handed to him, silver spoon dangling rakishly from sculpted lips, Jackson knew otherwise. He had worked damn hard to get to this point. Long hours put in pushing his body to the absolute limit. Late nights studying lacrosse plays and techniques, countless hours racked up on YouTube athletic channels.

Sure, his circumstances had given him a leg up, but he had continued the climb himself.

It wasn't his fault he was naturally gifted, that he had excellent bone-structure and easily styled hair. If anything it would be a sin for him not to take advantage of these things. Humility was for people who weren't good at anything. And Jackson was more than good.

He was the best.

The new girl, Fred, had piqued his interest. When meeting him girls had one of two reactions - shyly tucking their hair behind their ears while stammering through their introduction, or, a teasing smile followed up with flirtatious remarks as a hand lightly ran over his biceps. And yet this tiny blonde girl had done neither. Since meeting him she had been strangely charming with a dry wit that was bordering on mean. Unafraid to loose those barely blunted barbs in his direction, meeting his eyes with a gaze that was almost challenging.

If she had been a boy, there was no question that Jackson would have seen such behaviour as a threat and preemptively crushed any possibility of it going further. But coming from a girl he found the attitude weirdly refreshing.

It was almost like his friendship with Danny. And while still guarded, naturally since most people were only nice if they wanted something from you, Jackson was not opposed to seeing where this back and forth with Fred could go.

Glancing up at where the girl in question sat with an annoyed cast to her features, Allison firmly placed between Lydia and herself. Jackson made sure she noticed his smug grin.

Lacrosse was a joke, huh? Time to prove her wrong.

Hanging towards the back Jackson was amused to see Scott McCall despondently making his way to stand in goal. There was a desperation around the kid that he found morbidly entertaining. Like watching a car crash. Deep down you knew you should look away, but that little flicker of curiosity mixed with the reassurance that it wasn't happening to you kept you riveted.

As McCall fumbled his first block, the ball smacking him square in the forehead, Jackson chuckled at his particular brand of pathetic. He then choked when the kid caught the next ball with a display of reflexes that were edging towards unbelievable.

 _What the fuck?_ Jackson thought as McCall proceeded to catch every ball his team threw at him. Loser Scott McCall had overnight developed a degree of athleticism that had taken Jackson _years_ to hone. The same McCall who couldn't handle suicide runs without turning into a red-faced gasping asthmatic mess. The same McCall who struggled to reach fifty sit-ups. The very same McCall who just last semester had the hand-eye coordination of a geriatric woman with cataracts. _What the actual fuck?_

Pulling down his helmet Jackson roughly pushed his way to the front of the line. McCall thought he was cool because he managed to block a few shots? It was time to serve up death by humiliation, Jackson more than willing to put the loser back in his place.

Locking gazes with McCall, a dopey grin on his face as he rode through his soon to be short-lived moment of triumph, Jackson's nostrils flared in warning. He could almost pinpoint the exact moment McCall's confidence wavered, that stupid smile turning down in one corner while his eyes widened in alarm. Righteousness bloomed warm beneath Jackson's breast at the sight. A deep-seated feeling of satisfaction at McCall confirming that he was the better of the two, a man to be both feared and venerated.

Scott McCall may have tricked his way into becoming a strong wind, but Jackson was a goddamned tornado.

Feet pounding into the field, clods of dirt and grass flying with each step, Jackson cradled the ball with expert ease. Approaching, he remembered Fred up in the stands and her skepticism of his sport, and leapt up into the air as he launched the ball towards McCall.

Landing lightly on his feet, the smug set to his handsome features quickly settled into a cold mask of disbelief as McCall stared dumbfounded at the ball nestled in his lacrosse cradle.

The sounds of cheering from the stands were drowned out by the roaring in Jackson's ears as he witnessed his own girlfriend launching to her feet with a gleeful whoop. Lydia caught his gaze, her pretty face alight with razor-edge mischief as she blatantly supported the loser who had cracked the veneer of Jackson's perfect life.

It was decidedly worse, however, when he looked to the left and saw that although Fred was clapping at McCall's win her blue eyes were gazing down at him with something resembling sympathetic understanding.

Snarling under his breath Jackson tore the helmet from his head, the tenuous grip he had on his self-control the only thing stopping him from driving his crosse into Scott McCall's face.

When he looked back up, Fred was gone.

* * *

Fred's messenger bag bumped against her hip in rhythm with her steps as she picked her way across the uneven forest-floor.

Coming across a small creek she slowed to a stop, taking in the ten foot wide stretch of cold water and moss covered rocks. The idea of splashing across held minimal appeal, her concerns of a head-cold from the night prior rearing their head again at the thought of running around in drenched denim. There was absolutely no way Fred could risk illness with a full moon in four days and a newly minted werewolf running loose.

Groaning, she imagined how _that_ conversation would go with Scott. ' _Hey Scott? Can I chain you up and lock you in my spare-room? No? You're calling the police, what's a restraining order?'_. Yes, she could just see that situation going smoothly. Not.

Taking a running start she launched herself across the creek, landing several feet away from the bank on the opposite side in a half-crouch. Shaking hair out of her face an exhilarated laugh bubbled from between her lips. There were times that being a Slayer held a certain freedom. Such as the feeling of weightlessness she would experience mid-jump, her body capable of feats the general public thought impossible.

Breaking into a loping jog, concentrating on the stretch and pull of her muscles, Fred felt that elation all too quickly twist itself into guilt as her thoughts once more turned to Scott.

While a small part of her recognised that the guilt she was carrying was largely unwarranted, the louder part couldn't stop itself from pointing out all of the should haves and could haves of the night before. All culminating in the decision that teen wolf Scott McCall was now her responsibility. It was up to her to be the Gandalf to his Frodo… or at the very least his Aragorn. The role of Samwise Gamgee was already firmly taken by one Stiles Stilinski.

Her internal Lord Of The Rings comparisons were interrupted when Fred was roughly slammed up against a tree.

Fred's attacker was pressed flush against her, his thigh between her legs and a leather-encased forearm firm against her clavicle to keep her pinned in place. Raising her eyes to meet his, wisely looking up through her eyelashes rather that tilt her head back and expose her throat to what could possibly be an Alpha werewolf.

Green eyes burned into blue from an inch away beneath furrowed dark brows. He was so close his breath ghosted across her face as he growled through clenched teeth, "What are you?"

Face carefully blank as she recognised him from her dream, Fred paid careful attention to the way he asked 'what' and not 'who'. Confirming her first suspicion that he was more than likely a 'what' himself.

"Mildly uncomfortable," she quipped, not entirely untruthful. The force of being pinned between him and the tree had pulled at her wounds enough to set her nerve-ends aflame with pain. "Do we need to have a discussion on personal space?"

Judging by the way his eyes narrowed it was safe to assume that her particular brand of humor was not appreciated.

"You smell human," he stated, "But I saw you at the creek - what you did isn't humanly possible."

So while Fred had been wandering, hunting, she had been hunted herself. It made her wary of the fact that she hadn't noticed him until he had chosen to reveal himself, understanding that while he had been benign in her dream he could still be a threat now. She needed to get him worked up enough to partially shift and flash his eyes at her, confirm that he wasn't the Alpha and was instead a possible ally. Until that moment, despite all the playful banter, she couldn't let her guard down enough to trust him.

He did have a sixteen year old girl pinned against a tree, after all - and not in a trashy romance novel kind of way either.

"I work out," Fred attempted to shrug her shoulders nonchalantly but he was holding her firm. "Evidently so do you."

"Why are you out here?" he demanded as his frustration began to show.

"Why were you following me?" Fred shot back.

His entire body tensed as he stared down at her, jaw clicking as a layered growl sounded low in his throat. The sage green of his eyes was replaced by a brilliant iridescent blue and the nostrils on his thin-bladed nose flared delicately.

Expecting gold, dreading red, Fred was perplexed by blue. She hadn't known blue was an option. What the hell did _blue_ mean?

"Careful." Her warning was delivered in a light, almost friendly, tone. Meanwhile Fred applied pressure to the knife in her hand so the tip of the blade pressed against his stomach hard enough to be felt. It would only take two inches and a jerk of her wrist for him to be in trouble, and he knew it.

"Hunter." He glared as he increased the pressure against her clavicle, Fred simultaneously matching him with the switchblade in hand.

"Leo, actually." Her grin could be described as shit-eating, her wounds screaming against the pressure he was placing on them. But it was nothing compared to what she'd suffered previously. Slayers got injured. And they fought while injured. It was the way of things and a Slayer who couldn't do that was a dead one. "I also like long walks on the beach and Mexican food, just for future reference." Lowering her voice conspiratorially she added, "Churros are the way to my heart."

Fred took advantage of his confusion and brought her free hand up to grasp the wrist at her shoulder while drawing both knees up and placing her feet flat against the tree behind her, using the thigh between her legs to stabilise the move. Launching forward Fred sent the off-guard wolf sprawling to the forest-floor with herself perched on top of him, the heavy scent of loam strong in her nostrils. Strong enough to conceal the sharp tang of blood as she felt it drip down the valley of her breasts beneath her shirt. Shifting her weight back on his hips she pressed her knees firmly into his sides, feet hooked around his legs and one hand holding down his shoulder while the other had her switchblade flush with his jugular.

Fred hadn't been top of her class for nothing.

"Didn't your mom ever teach you to not pin girls against trees without at least taking them out for dinner first?" She asked conversationally, enjoying herself a little too much if she were being honest. It had been a while since Fred had had a decent fight. A warm flush crawled over her body as she waited in anticipation over what his next move would be. Adrenaline a welcome anesthesia to the pain she knew would kick her ass later. His arms were free, however the pressure being placed on the joint of his shoulder meant only one and a half of them were useful.

"What are you?" Eyes narrowed and teeth gritted he was the very picture of exasperated fury.

"I'm Fred, a Vampire Slayer - and you are?" Cocking her head to the side she sang down at him with a teasing smile.

"Vampire Slayers don't exist - you're just a myth." It appeared he expressed himself purely through his eyebrows. A deadly combination of eyebrows and movie-star hair.

"Do myths often pin you to the ground?" Fred snickered, "You and bigfoot wrassle on Wednesdays?" She sobered as he continued to thoughtfully glare at her, not finding any amusement in her teasing. What a waste, she was hilarious.

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for the Alpha," Fred told him honestly, adding with a knowing smirk, "But you're doing that already, aren't ya?"

"Why are you looking for the Alpha?" His voice and eyebrows thick with suspicion.

' _Seriously?'_ Fred wanted to shout, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes. Because she wanted to give him a freaking fruit basket, what else? ' _Congratulations on the start of your murderous rampage through Beacon Hills - try the lychee, it's delicious!'_

"He bit a friend of mine. Well, prospective friend. Maybe." Realising she was rambling, Fred forced herself back on track, "So, I've got some words for him. Mainly 'consent' and 'neuter' come to mind." A large toothy grin was given to the werewolf beneath her at the word 'neuter' as she noticed the way he tensed. Imperceptible to some, but not to her.

It was really quite astounding how just the prospect of hypothetical dicks being injured was enough to make men flinch in both sympathy and fear.

Both of them were so distracted that neither noticed the two teenage boys until they were almost on top of them. It made Fred slightly disappointed in Mr Tall, Dark, and Broody seeing as he was the one with uber-werewolf hearing. She only had a heightened awareness, but it was really only effective when she was paying attention as after four months Fred was still getting used to it.

Luckily she had enough sense of mind to snap her switchblade closed and tuck it up the sleeve of her jacket before turning her head to acknowledge a bewildered Scott who hesitantly asked, "Fred?"

"Hi, Scott," Smiling at him as though there was nothing weird about finding her straddling an older guy in the middle of the woods. Just a standard Monday afternoon for Fred Ackerman. "Stiles," she added with a nod in the boys direction. For once he wasn't staring at her with his mouth open. Instead his lips were pursed and he appeared to be looking everywhere but at her, his cheeks shaded pink as though he'd been running hard.

"Uh, what're you doing?" Scott powered through the confusion and awkwardness like a champ, glancing between the two involved in the compromising position before him.

"What are you doing here?" The wolf beneath Fred barked out, catching her unaware, apparently not appreciation having a pretty teenage girl in his lap. "This is private property."

"Uh, sorry man we didn't know," Stiles managed a glance in Fred's direction as he avoided directly answering the wolfs question, scratching the side of his jaw before shoving his fidgeting hands into his pockets. His eyes once again roaming the surroundings.

"We were just looking for...something but…" Scott started off brave but wavered under the intensity of the harsh look the wolf was giving him - Fred idly wondered if he could teach her to make her own eyebrows that intimidating. "...forget it."

Beneath Fred the wolf shifted as he dug into his jacket pocket, flinging something small and plastic at Scott who caught it with an expression of surprise, opening his fingers to reveal his inhaler. Beaming down at the man below her, Fred patted his chest approvingly and resisted the urge to praise ' _good dog_ '.

Both boys turned to go, sensing that the conversation was finished, when Scott looked at Fred with concern, "You coming, Fred?"

Considering the situation from his point of view, she could see how it looked. And she could definitely imagine what sorts of wild stories were running rampant through both boys' minds at the moment. Fred could either go with the two of them and laugh the entire thing off as a misunderstanding, just another awkward encounter caused by her complete lack of observation while walking. Or she could stay, let the two of them leave without her, and risk being painted as the biggest ho-biscuit this side of the county line.

There wasn't even much of a choice, although it was nice to entertain the idea. Fred needed information on the Alpha.

"See you at school tomorrow, boys," Fred's voice was as reassuring as the smile she sent their way.

 _Please, please, leave so I can get this information shake-down over with and go home_ , her internal monologue was desperate. _I have homework to do - honest to God homework - and I haven't done homework in eight months. Plus_ America's Next Top Model _starts at eight and it's makeover week. Makeover week is my_ favourite _week._

After an awkward moment where it seem as though both Scott and Stiles were going to argue the point until Fred left with them, they faced the futility of it and turned away.

"What's Fred doing with Derek Hale, dude?" Stiles muttered after a few steps, Fred's brows raising as she learned the wolf's name. "He's, like, ten years older than us!"

"I don't know bro," Scott glanced over his shoulder once more, "But I've gotta get to work."

Only once the sounds of their footsteps had disappeared into the myriad of bird calls and buzzing insects did Fred turn her attention back to Derek. Switchblade sliding out of her jacket sleeve and finding its place once more against his jugular. "Well, _Derek_ , ready to talk about the Big Bad Wolf?"

"If you're looking to kill the Alpha, that isn't necessary," he instead replied, referencing the knife with brows raised in question when she hesitated a second longer than he deemed necessary.

"Try anything and I'll turn you into a nice wolfy throw-rug," Fred warned twirling the knife around her fingers with a flourish before stashing it back in her jacket. "Maybe some leg-warmers."

Delicate nostrils flaring Derek narrowed those green eyes of his. Now that the distraction of nosey teenage boys and possible disembowelment had passed, the sickly sweet scent of blood coated his sinuses with iron. "You're injured." It was a statement, fact, and he now noticed the tiny hints of pain hidden in the set of her jaw and the corners of her eyes.

Managing a flippant shrug, ignoring the way it pulled the skin across her collarbone taut tearing her healing wounds further, Fred couldn't hide the tiny pinpricks of red dotting her white shirt.

"Your pal the Alpha may have left me with a souvenir of our first date. Being thrown against a tree probably didn't help." Hooking a finger into her shirt collar Fred peered down at the damage. Derek picked up on her whispered "Fuck! Kevin is gonna kill me!" just fine, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at her exasperation.

"Can I get up now?"

Ignoring his attempt at helping Fred pushed up off of him, adjusting her jeans as she realised just how low they'd slipped. Grudgingly wrapping his fingers around her offered forearm, Derek found himself roughly yanked upward. An amused sound reached his ears as the momentum sent him flying towards her, Fred stopping him just before she broke her nose against his chest. The guy was solid like a Renaissance statue, and the tip of her nose could now attest to that fact.

"Come on," Derek grabbed her discarded messenger-bag as she rubbed the tip of her nose with a pout, "we can talk at my place."

* * *

'His Place' ended up being a dilapidated half-burnt down overgrown ruin straight out of a horror movie.

As the front porch steps creaked under Derek's weight Fred eyed them warily. "Just so you're aware, your place is giving me the total wiggins and that's coming from someone who spends about forty percent of their time in cemeteries."

"You'll be fine," Derek was impatient, holding the front door open and appearing one second away from tapping his foot.

"I better not need a tetanus shot on my way home," she muttered while sweeping past him, questioning the need for a door to begin with. Seriously, the only people who would break into this place were children on dares and weird goth kids wanting to get their mack on somewhere spooky. The entire property looked condemned and it was a wonder Derek himself looked so clean and put together when it was doubtful this place even had working plumbing.

Casting a scrutinising look upon the set of stairs opposite the door - the only thing in the place that looked somewhat solid - Fred tapped on the second step up with her foot to test whether it could hold her weight. After determining that the probability of her falling through it into some creepy basement was fairly low she bent forward to swipe a small hand across the worn wood, wiping away the dust and dirt.

Derek leaned against the post at the foot of the stairs after closing the door, staring at her with his eyebrows slightly raised and arms crossed over his broad chest.

With a smirk that implied she was aware of his impatience and simply didn't care, Fred primly sat down on the space she'd cleared and looked up at Derek expectantly. "So, I'm guessing you and the Alpha aren't exactly…'simpatico'?" she completed the sentence with finger quotes.

An amused snort escaped the wolf without his permission, Derek seemingly just as surprised by it as Fred was. Shaking his head as though to clear any non-super-serious thoughts from it he replied, "Whoever it is killed my sister - when I find it, I'm going to kill it. And you'll help me?"

"Well, it's kinda my job if it's going on murderous rampages," Fred shrugged, ignoring the burn in her chest, "But I want something in return for teaming up and becoming the Dynamic Duo."

"What?" He was cautious, brows furrowed with suspicion.

"I want you to help Scott," Fred was firm with her request. "It's my fault he's now an actual puppy, and all I know about werewolves couldn't even be considered the CliffsNotes version. But you." She pointed at him, "Are a real-live werewolf - therefore you are much more qualified to Obi Wan his Luke. Whereas I plan on being more Leia without the awkward kiss. Or maybe Han with less skepticism." Taking in the stunned look on his face as she spouted pop-culture reference after pop-culture reference Fred added, "Of course, I'm sure you'll survive the first movie and won't be killed by the Alpha - who in this scenario is naturally Vader."

At that Fred felt as though she had done a sufficient job at reassuring him. Unless his stunned look had been because he'd never seen _Star Wars_. No, it couldn't be, the guy was apparently ten years older than her - he had definitely seen _Star Wars_.

"What if I need to contact you?" Derek eventually asked after enduring a silence that was almost bordering on awkward. A tumbleweed blowing by wouldn't have been out of place.

"Ah, that," Fred nodded. "A complicated series of smoke-signals, naturally. Don't worry," She reassured him, "I'll teach you before I leave."

Refusing to quaver beneath the glare he sent her way Fred pulled her phone out of her pocket and tossed it at him, holding out an expectant hand for his. "Or, you know," she shrugged, "Texting? It's what the kids do these days instead of going to dinosaur races."

"I know what texting is," Derek snarked at her, "Also iTunes and colour television."

"Good for you," Fred praised saccharine, only for him to intensify his glare and turn the silence near palpable. Maybe he was touchy about his age?

"So," she changed the subject as they returned each others phones, "all you know about the Alpha is that they're big, bad, and they killed your sister?"

"Yes."

A thought occurred to her. "Was that girl they found in the woods your sister?" There was a delicacy to her phrasing that had been remiss throughout their conversations so far.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry." Tilting her head back to catch his eye, Fred made a point of letting him see her sincerity. In the slight curve of her lips to the softening of her eyes. That she was a fellow comrade in arms when it came to grief. To wounds that still felt too raw to linger on for longer than a moment.

"So am I," Derek was gruff as he broke eye-contact to instead glare down at the floorboards as though personally offended by them.

Grimacing, not wanting to ask this question right after bringing up his dead werewolf sister but not exactly having much choice, Fred asked, "So, how do we kill it? What hurts werewolves?"

Again, silence. Fred fidgeted as she awaited an answer, contemplating what colour to paint her nails tonight. _Yellow? Nope. Lilac? Nah. Maybe a pastel blue?_

"It's not like the movies." Fred's head shot up at the sound of Derek's voice and she gave him her full attention. "We're not allergic to silver, and we can shift on days other than the full-moon. During the full-moon the younger wolves can have trouble controlling their impulses, but the older you get the less the moon affects you." A pause. "The two things that are completely lethal are wolfsbane and fire."

"I think you'll find fire's pretty lethal for everyone…" Fred interjected before trailing off under his unimpressed gaze. Rising to her feet she approached him, pulling out her switchblade and tapping it against his chest, "What if I were to slip this between your ribs at just the right angle to skewer your heart, would that kill you?"

"That would like anyone, wouldn't it?" Sarcasm edged his words as he gazed down at her impassively, mocking her previous comment. "You'd have to get close enough first."

Twirling away with a laugh Fred put the knife away, "Don't worry about that - I'm pretty handy with a sword."

* * *

AN: As always thanks to missjanuarylily for being my beta, and huntsthemoon for being my constant validation lol

Thank you also to everyone who took the time to review last chapter, I appreciate it so much you have no idea: daystorm, corahaale, anarchxst, xamazonwarriorx, kisaageckos (you spoiled me!), and princessdarkness12. You guys are the reason I keep doing this and don't just keep this fic to myself haha

Please share your thoughts on this chapter with me, it's the highlight of my day to read them =)

\- susiesamurai xoxo


	5. That Was Just Weird

**Chapter Five**

 _ **That Was Just Weird**_

Disclaimer: I do not own BTVS or Teen Wolf, nor do I receive any form of financial gain from this work of fiction.

* * *

Friday had arrived.

The night of the full moon. The night of Lydia Martin's back-to-school bash that Fred was expected to attend - having been reminded by Jackson twice, Lydia once although it had been grudgingly, and Allison wouldn't stop texting her about outfit ideas since she'd agreed to be Scott's date. Also known as the night that werewolves and most other supernatural creatures liked to run amok and make a Slayers life difficult.

And Fred was being dragged to the lacrosse pitch to witness a scrimmage that decided who would make first line. Something she frankly had zero interest in but seeing as Scott was playing and Allison had pulled out the doe-eyes she had no power over it.

This time she was squeezed between Allison and Lydia, both expressing that she wouldn't be running away this time. As if because she had done it that once on the first day it would become an ongoing habit if allowed. They were right, of course, but it didn't make it any less annoying.

All Fred could do was hope that the reason the players wore all that padding was because lacrosse could be almost as brutal as football. Otherwise, Fred just couldn't imagine herself getting into a game where it was just guys running around with really long sticks. At least hockey was played on ice, skating around with long sticks was much more impressive in her opinion.

Barely paying attention it was only Allison's gasp that dragged the Slayer from her thoughts and forced her to focus on the game below her. Jackson had sent Scott sprawling to the ground, lifting his helmet enough to shoot an arrogant grin down at the kid before strutting off. Lydia made a faint sound of approval at Jackson's ruthless tactics, an almost vicious expression crossing her face. Approval that only grew as the two boys continued their growing rivalry on the field.

The highlight of the game came when Scott did a flip over three players that would do Buffy Summers proud as he landed with perfect form and sent the ball in his crosse pocket soaring in the net. Right between the stunned goalies spread legs. Allison had surged to her feet, cheering, and Fred found herself strangely caught up in the energy as Coach Finstock announced that Scott had made first line. At least the kid had gotten one good thing out of being turned into a werewolf. Naturally, that line of thinking was simply Fred's attempt to assuage the guilt she still felt about potentially ruining Scott's life by inadvertently getting him caught up in the supernatural.

Once the game was finished and the first and second lines had been divided, Fred bid Allison and Lydia goodbye and headed toward the library to meet with Kevin. Her Watcher was working late and had requested that she check in with him before heading to the party. Since she had returned home with blood staining her shirt and had to endure a lecture about caring for her body better while he reapplied the butterfly sutures, Kevin had been watching her closely. Those dark eyes constantly examining her for any signs of weakness or pain, while still respecting her enough to not smother her with his concern. It was a strange kind of care, but one Fred appreciated. He was firm with her but never babied her, treating her like an equal instead of a troubled ward.

Pushing open the library doors Fred marched into the large room, the afternoon sun casting a warm orange glow over the desks and book stacks. Dust motes floated in the shards of sunlight and gave the room an almost magical feel when mixed with the smell of lemon-polish and old paper. Contentment bloomed beneath her breast, there was something inexplicably comforting about libraries and Beacon Hills High had an impressive one. A wide staircase leading up to a landing lined with floor to ceiling windows before splitting into stairs leading to galleries lining either side of the large room.

Hopping onto the counter to the right side of the doors Fred swung her legs back and forth as Kevin emerged from the stacks, pointedly ignoring the disapproving look he sent her way.

"Enjoy the game, eh?" Kevin asked as he dropped the pile of books onto the counter next to her, side-eyeing the girl who refused to budge.

With a shrug, Fred instead used the books as an armrest, "It's not football."

"Ain't that the truth," He agreed, although Fred got the feeling they weren't discussing the same sport any longer.

"So Q, got any new-fangled gadgets for me to take on my mission tonight?" Fred sounded bored but there was a light in her eyes as she teased him that Kevin had started to see more often than not recently. He hoped it was a sign of her healing. That her good humour would last longer every time before she retreated into her head again.

"You're going to a party to keep an eye on a teenage werewolf. That's hardly international espionage, love."

"Way to take all the fun out of it," Fred pouted at him.

"Besides, Derek said he'd be there also," Kevin said before confirming, "Didn't he?"

"His exact words were 'I'll be around'," Fred relayed with a roll of her eyes. "That probably means he'll be creepily watching through a window or something. That guy is so socially incompetent he makes Andrew look like Don Draper."

"Ah, speaking of socially...awkward Scott's friend was in earlier - the twitchy one?"

"Stiles," Fred frowned. "Why?"

Passing a scrap of paper to her, "This is a list of books he checked out - if he's planning on trying to help Scott when he turns he's going to get hurt."

Fred skimmed through the list in her hand: _History of Lycanthropy, Werewolves: Myths and Legends, Folklore and Fairytales, The Twilight Saga._ A snort burst forth as she read the last entry, mirth bubbling up her throat at the notion of Stephanie Meyer being a reputable source on _werewolves._ Like, really.

"Okay, so now not only do I need to babysit a teenage werewolf, but also his attention-deficit best friend," she sighed before drumming her hands against her legs, "I better get going, I still need to get ready for this party and I want to get some training in first."

"Best of luck, eh?" Kevin patted her on the shoulder, squeezing gently. "Let me know if anything goes wrong and you need me."

"Don't worry, if there's any ancient text I need translated you'll be the first to know," Fred grinned, darting out the door before he had a chance to retaliate calling out behind her over his grumbling, "Bye Kevin!"

* * *

Staring down at the three outfits on her bed in deep thought, Fred's face twisted into a scowl.

"I used to be so good at this," She muttered frustratedly. "Fuck."

The stare-down between Fred and her clothing had been going on for the better part of thirty minutes now. And despite her best attempts, they were still at an impasse.

"This is ridiculous," she told herself sternly. "You are ridiculous. Just pick something."

With a sound that was a cross between a growl and a snarl Fred snatched clothing off of the bed and proceeded to get dressed. A charcoal silk dress with a high collar and hemline long enough to hide the holster of throwing-knives Fred strapped to her upper thigh. Another dagger went into her right knee-high boot and her butterfly-knife, Back-Up, was once again tucked away in the pocket of her leather jacket. Hopefully, the small arsenal would be enough, the blades dealing more damage than a stake if she had another run-in with the Alpha.

These thoughts kept her occupied during the walk to Lydia's house. Battle-plans and strategies making the forty minute trip seem like half that, the brisk night air enough to keep her aware of her surroundings but not much else. It would be a lie to say that Fred wasn't looking forward to a rematch with the Alpha, the almost healed scratches on her chest serving a daily reminder of her failure. The young Slayer yearned for retribution. Her blood boiling at the thought of putting down the monster that had killed and would likely do it again soon.

Murder was a thing she could not forgive.

Approaching the large house, one of many in a row of McMansions, Fred watched with raised eyebrows as a boy ran across the lawn whooping wildly before promptly throwing up in a bush. Loud cheering followed from a group of teenagers watching, phones out and recording the entire thing, while the vomiting boy held his arms up in some display of victory. Of what, Fred wasn't sure.

"Fucking idiot," she muttered as she checked her phone while approaching the front door. Derek had text to let her know that he was on his way, and she could just picture him standing in some dark corner staring at Scott in the creepiest way possible. That being said, it wasn't exactly her place to tell him how to behave - maybe it was a werewolf thing? A creepy werewolf thing. All she could say was that it was lucky he was so pretty otherwise his somewhat stalkerish tendencies would come off as less teen-romance hero and more serial killer.

"Damn Barbie, I'll be your Ken tonight," a male voice slurred above her moments after entering the house. She had barely left the foyer and some douchebag was hitting on her. Awesome.

Stunned, Fred cast her gaze upwards to find a well-built brunette leering down at her. He could have been attractive if his idea of wooing hadn't been bad pick-up lines and trying to use his height difference to peek down her dress. He couldn't be more obvious if he donned a cap and pipe, squinting at her cleavage with an oversized magnifying glass and a British accent.

"Excuse me?"

Ignoring the edge to her voice he instead took her words as encouragement, stepping closer and wrapping one large hand around her upper arm. Because that was a thing that happened. "What say me and you go find a quiet corner and -"

"Excuse me," Fred interrupted, tilting her head to the side and fluttering her eyelashes. "Can I have your beer for a second?"

Grinning as though he'd just won the lottery he passed the red solo cup to her without a second thought. "Thanks," Fred was saccharine sweet as she proceeded to toss the contents of it in his face.

Spluttering he swiped a hand over his increasingly reddening face, "You bitch!"

Lowering the arm she had raised in anticipation of punching the guy in the throat, Fred watched as a hand clapped down on the guy's shoulder and he was instead spun around to face an annoyed Jackson Whittemore. Disappointment and frustration flooded her, she had been looking forward to teaching the guy a lesson about grabbing random girls and propositioning them. Realising her lips were still pulled into a feral grin Fred was quick to press her mouth into an unamused line. Keeping her abilities on the down-low and the fuse on her anger being so short it was borderline nonexistent wasn't exactly a simpatico relationship it seemed.

"Hey Adam," Jackson said with a tight smile, "Why don't you go grab another drink, huh?"

"I wouldn't need one if Barbie hadn't gone postal and tossed mine all over me!" Adam protested, waving a hand in Fred's direction. Well, he wasn't wrong.

"I'll say that again," Jackson's voice was low, "Go get another drink before I put you through this wall."

Both boys engaged in some strange testosterone-fueled staring match with Adam being the first to look away, shaking his head. "Screw you, Jackson," He brandished a finger in Jackson's face while pushing past him, "have the crazy bitch for all I care!"

Jackson ignored him, letting him walk off and instead approaching Fred. "Hey, you alright?"

Legitimate concern coloured his words, sending a jolt of shock through her. Yes, they had both been interacting this past week during math class and between classes. During lunch Fred instead spoke with Allison, Lydia not allowing anyone to speak with Jackson around her unless she was directly involved in the conversation. Which had the unfortunate side-effect of the conversation being about as interesting as watching paint dry. But she hadn't realised that in the space of a week they had somehow progressed to almost-friends. Maybe full-blown friends. Regardless, Fred would put off the friendship bracelets for a little while longer at least.

"Um, yeah?" Fred was quick to shake off her surprise. "Apart from almost drowning in the amount of testosterone you decided to wear tonight. What is that? _Action Hero_ by Calvin Klein?"

"Dior, actually." It appeared he was struggling to keep a straight face and distracted himself by gesturing towards her outfit with the red solo cup in his hand, "You look nice."

"Gee, thanks," Fred answered with a roll of her eyes, "And as always, you look as though you've stepped out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue. At least you're consistent."

Jackson's chest rumbled with laughter before tapering off as Lydia draped herself over him, manicured fingers playing with the hair on the back of his neck while she stared at Fred. Annoyance flashed across Jackson's features, but it was gone so quickly that Fred thought she'd imagined it. As she took in the navy bodycon dress Lydia had managed to squeeze her ample body into, Fred couldn't imagine how Jackson could be anything less than ecstatic to have his girlfriend pressed against him.

"Fred!" Lydia exclaimed, an edge to her smile. "You made it."

"It would appear so," Fred drawled as the redhead tossed her artless tumble of curls over her shoulder.

"And why don't you have a drink?" She demanded smoky green eyes narrowed in disapproval.

"That's an excellent question!" Fred told her brightly. "How about I go fix that? Nice seeing you!"

Before either of them had a chance to respond Fred had slipped into the crowd and hightailed it outside.

Managing to locate the bar Fred accepted a cup full of what she was told was rum and coke just so she looked the part of enjoying a high school party while keeping an eye on Scott. Walking over to a giant brazier on the other side of the pool from the dancefloor Fred casually leaned up against an ivy-covered wall and took a tentative sip of her drink. Grimacing, she then proceeded to discreetly spit it back into the cup. Furtively glancing around and seeing that no one was looking her way, she tossed the still full cup into the garden beside her.

"Not a fan, huh?" A deep voice rumbled beside her.

"Jesus fuck!" Jumping slightly, Fred glared up at Derek as he smirked down at her - one lip twitch away from an amused smile - and exasperatedly replied, "We need to get you a fucking bell or something. Seriously - stamp your feet a little or whistle a jaunty tune instead of creepily sneaking up on people."

"But you're cute when you squeak," He raised his eyebrows at her as his smirk widened.

"Oh ho, buddy!" Fred informed him with her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I do not squeak."

"Sure you don't."

"How's Scott doing?" Changing the subject, Fred tilted her head towards where Scott and Allison had just joined the group of people dancing on the patio. This entire party was like a music video or something, all that was missing was some drunken couple to be making out in the pool.

Moving into the centre of the writhing bodies mistaking dancing with dry-humping, Scott had a look on his face that was part excitement and part five minutes from throwing up. Taking pity on him, Allison placed his hands on her waist as she rested her arms on his shoulders.

"As well as any teenage boy on a date with a pretty girl," Derek crossed his arms over his chest, causing his jacket to pull tight over his shoulders and biceps. Fred found herself eying the lines of muscle before catching herself and glancing away. "Though, if he keeps that up he's not going to last long," He continued with a nod towards where hands had grown bolder and the two teenagers were dancing a lot closer together than before.

"I can't figure out if that's a euphemism or not," Fred stated flatly, before flashing his blank expression a devious smirk. "I'll leave that with you while I go locate the bathroom," she clapped him on the shoulder as she breezed past him and headed towards the patio doors.

Finally popping free of the crowd Fred was greeted with the sight of Lydia pushed up against the side of the house while a very amorous Jackson plastered himself to her and went to town. What made her frown, however, was the way she was very intensely staring at Scott during this. With a shrug, she decided that it wasn't her problem what weird exhibitionist crap Lydia got off on and entered the house with the sole goal of finding a bathroom.

After eventually finding an unoccupied bathroom Fred stepped back out into the living room just in time to almost be taken out by a very sweaty, very panicked Scott McCall. Less than a minute behind him was a very distraught Allison Argent. After a moment's hesitation, Fred took off after them.

Both girls burst out of the house just in time to watch Scott jump into his car and drive off without a second glance at Allison calling his name in confusion.

Spinning around to face Fred, Allison demanded, "You're friends with him, right? Why did he take off?"

Holding up her hands Fred attempted to reassure her friend, "I'd say we're more comfortable acquaintances. Maybe he wasn't feeling well? He wasn't looking too good."

"I don't understand," Allison dragged a hand through her curled hair in frustration. "I thought things were going really well. Did I do something wrong? Was it me?" Fred was surprised at how much it hurt to see the insecurity in Allison's eyes as she blinked down at the shorter girl, seeking comfort.

"Of course you didn't!" Fred's voice was vehement. "Scott's just a fucking weirdo who's obviously going through something and is too socially-awkward to explain himself."

Allison let out a choked laugh, "Thanks."

"Hey," A familiar voice said and both girls turned to see Derek approaching them, skirting around the boy from earlier who had passed out in the bush he'd previously been vomiting in.

"Um, hi?" Allison automatically replied as she looked him up and down, eyebrows raised in confusion.

"Allison, this is Derek," Fred introduced the two. "He's a friend of mine - and Scott."

"Oh, nice to meet you," Allison said distractedly, her smile shaky as she tried her best to be polite while worrying about what she'd done to upset Scott.

"I saw that Scott ran out on you, did he have another one of his episodes?" Derek shoved his hands in his pockets as he made the decision to get Fred in on his lie. A terrible decision, considering how poor of a liar she was.

Rolling her eyes Fred answered, "It's that or his period came early."

"I thought I'd offer you a ride home - if you want one?" Derek didn't even acknowledge her flippant response, gesturing towards a shiny black Camaro parked on the side of the road. Fred's eyes went round as she gazed at it, conveniently lit by the glow of the streetlight above it while a chorus of angels sang in her ears.

It was love at first sight. She was all sleek lines and the imagined rumble of that engine roared in her ears. Fred bet that she cornered like she was on rails too. Her new goal in life had instantly become getting Derek Hale to let her drive his car.

"You're friends with Scott?" Allison was tentative as she pulled her blazer more snugly around her, casting a side glance at Fred who was staring at the car in rapture.

"Yeah," Derek reassured the girl with a smile. A smile that lit up his entire face and managed to drag Fred's attention away from his car and back to him. It seemed as though his face was built for smiling, the small action much more natural on his features than the perpetual scowl he usually sported. "And it's the least I can do to make sure you get home safe."

When Allison continued to hesitate Fred took pity on Derek and jumped in, "It's okay Allison. You can trust Derek." Going for a hint of levity she added, "Besides, did you see his car? I'm about ready to take him up on an offer for a ride home."

Giggling, Allison nodded, "Alright."

"Well then, get going you crazy kids," Fred ushered them towards the car. "Let me know when you get home," She told Allison as she got in the passenger side, before addressing Derek mock-sternly while making 'watching you' hand gestures, "And you - don't let your hand slip on the gear-shift."

Smiling brightly at his answering glare Fred waved at Allison and muttered loud enough for Derek's enhanced hearing to pick up, "I'll track down Scott. Get her home safe."

He nodded before jumping in the car and speeding off.

"Was that Derek Hale?"

Looking over her shoulder, Fred witnessed Stiles barrelling towards her with a tan blazer in one hand and his keys clutched in the other. He tripped on the last step and narrowly avoided face-planting into the lawn. Fred watched the entire scene impassively, arms crossed under her breasts and an annoyed quirk to her hip.

"That it was."

"And you let him drive off with Allison?" He asked flatly, the tone of his voice implying that he was questioning her intelligence.

Narrowing her eyes at him she replied, "Your keen observation skills continue to astound."

The Powers That Be were testing her. This was her punishment for not being a better Slayer and allowing Scott to be bitten. Fred idly wondered if smiting would be less painful than this, because if so dear God feel free to smite away.

"Why-why would you _do_ that?" Stiles was waving his arms around as he got progressively more and more worked up. "I'm not sure if you've noticed yet, but your boyfriend? Yeah - well he's dangerous! Or-well- _potentially_ dangerous! And you just let _Allison_ get in a car with him - _alone!_ "

Irritated, Fred snapped back, "I've been in his _house_ alone with him - and what do you know?" She gestured dramatically to herself, "I'm still alive! So cool your jets and get out of my face."

Refusing to stand there and have her intelligence questioned further by a boy who thought Stephanie Meyer was a reputable expert on werewolves, Fred turned on her heel and marched off phone in hand. Thanks to a little school-time sleuthing, Kevin had been able to provide her with Scott's address out of the school records and she wasted no time typing it into her GPS search bar.

Hearing footsteps behind her she spun back around to face an aggravated Stiles Stilinski - Fred ignored the small part of her that whispered how he looked kind of hot; with his eyes darkened in anger, red blotches emphasising his high cheekbones, the nostrils on his upturned nose flaring, cupids-bow lips pursed and his sharp jaw clicking from being so tightly clenched. In that moment Fred could completely understand why guys find girls attractive when they were angry - brandishing a finger in his face she ordered, "Go home, Stiles."

Why the fuck couldn't the guy see that she was trying to stop him from being turned into a little werewolf canape?

A frustrated growl rumbled from deep in his throat. Throwing his hands up in the air he stared down at Fred for a moment before running across the road and jumping into a baby-blue jeep. Revving the engine more than necessary thanks to his emotions running high he powered off down the road, presumably not to his own house but the very same place Fred was going herself.

With a grin all Fred could think was, _challenge accepted, Stilinski_.

Bursting into a full-blown sprint, Fred moved down the sidewalk fast enough that her hair blew back from her face and her skirt plastered itself against her thighs. It was late enough at night that she didn't run into anyone, so there was no need to stick to a 'normal' pace on her several-block dash to the McCall residence. At one point she even sped past a certain blue jeep at a stop sign and smirked when she caught the stunned look on Stiles' face as he attempted to process how fast she was moving.

As the large blue and white house came into sight Fred hastened her steps, moving across the front yard and leaping up to catch hold of the edge of the porch roof. Swinging forwards, she used her backwards momentum to launch herself up and land on the edge of the roof in a crouch. Keen ears easily picked up the sounds of Scott's distress coming from the room directly in front of her, Fred quickly moving around the corner as Stiles' car came rocketing down the street and parked haphazardly half on the curb.

Fetching up hard against the blue cladding beside the window, keeping to the shadow cast by the yellow light spilling outside of Scott's room, Fred waited. It was quickly decided that she'd only intervene if Stiles was in danger.

Sure the guy had insulted her - but that didn't mean she wanted him to be brutally mauled, or, you know, _dead_.

A rapid knocking on the bedroom door was answered by Scott's strained voice, "Go away!"

"Scott?" Stiles' voice was thin and panicked, muffled by the door between them. "It's me!"

Stumbling, Scott fell heavily against the wall before managing to open it. "Let me in Scott - I can help!" Stiles was pleading.

"No!" Scott paused, breathing heavily as though suffering an asthma attack, "Listen - you've gotta find Allison!"

"She's fine," Stiles tried to placate his friend in an attempt to be let inside, it may have even worked if Scott hadn't been pumped to the limit with wolfy hormones. "Alright? I-I saw her and she's totally - she's totally _fine_. I saw her get a ride. From the party -" Fred couldn't help but wonder why he was suddenly so calm when less than ten minutes previous he had bitten her head off for letting Allison go with Derek. "- she's totally fine, alright?"

"I think I know who it is," Scott was strained as he struggled for control, Fred risking a peek around the windowsill. He was pressed up against the slightly ajar door, obviously holding back Stiles who was pushing from the other side. Water or sweat ran down the twitching muscles of his back, wet hair curling against the back of his neck.

"Dude, just let me in! We can talk -"

"It's Derek - Derek Hale's the werewolf! He's the one that bit me! He's the one that killed the girl in the woods!" As he continued to list all his points against Derek, Scott's voice got increasingly more distressed. Fred couldn't help but roll her eyes at the dramatics of it all. Derek appeared to be doing a bang-up job of mentoring the kid - not only did Scott think Derek was a murderer, he was also apparently the one who bit him.

"Scott," Stiles said after a beat, "Derek's the one who drove Allison from the party."

Fred instantly vowed to punch Stiles Stilinski the next time she saw him for being so thoroughly tactless and thoughtless.

Scott slammed the door shut in his anger and Fred darted around the side of the house just as he vaulted through the window, dropping from the porch-roof to the ground and racing off into the night. Without a second thought, Fred took off after him. Someone had to stop him from doing something stupid, and so far all Stiles had managed to do was exacerbate the situation.

* * *

Tunnel vision.

That's what it felt like to Scott as he raced through the night with the sole goal of saving Allison from Derek's evil werewolf clutches. It became an afterthought that he was now a monster too, so consumed by his fear, anger, and grief as he was. Despite the cold night air, Scott was feverish and almost felt as though he was crawling out of his skin.

It was all too much. The heightened senses he had been experiencing this past week were now all dialled to one hundred. Confused and overwhelmed it was easier to concentrate on the strong emotions coursing through him, a rapid heartbeat pumping him full of rage and adrenaline.

So many scents twisted around him, nostrils flaring as he desperately tried to pinpoint the only one that mattered.

Keen eyes saw Derek's car up ahead, a shiny black Camaro parked almost tauntingly next to the sign warning people to stay out of the preserve after dark. Without a thought he had launched himself up and onto the roof, ignoring the unholy screech of his claws against metal. A few scratches in the paintwork would be the least of Derek Hale's problems by the time the teen was done with him. Chest rumbling with the force of it, Scott growled his displeasure at finding the vehicle empty and launched himself forward and into the preserve.

Loping across the forest floor, claws pulling up clods of loam and leaving clouds of dead leaves in his wake, Scott didn't even register when he made the switch to moving on all fours. His mouth was uncomfortably full, his jaw constantly hanging down to accommodate the larger size of his teeth. Thick coarse hair grew across his cheeks, more than he had ever started to grow since beginning puberty. Bright eyes tracked every subtle movement of his surroundings, a thin ring of gold barely visible around pupils blown wide.

Hanging from a tree branch up ahead was Allison's blazer and Scott's vision went red.

"Where is she?!"

"Safe from you," Derek's voice floated out of the darkness before he silently padded up behind Scott, using the element of surprise to grab the boys arms and throw him to the ground.

A battle for dominance followed, both werewolves rolling over the forest floor. Animalistic growls filled the air punctuated by snarls and the fleshy smack of fists connecting to jaws, shoulders and chests. While Scott was giving it his all, it appeared as though the older werewolf was simply playing with him. Going through the motions of a fight. Hoping that Scott would quickly get the aggression out of his system and they could _talk_.

Gaining the upper hand Derek pushed Scott up against a tree, crouching down in front of him while urgently scanning the area. It seems their brawling had attracted the wrong kind of attention along with the blonde who had been tailing Scott since he had left his house.

"What did you do with her?" Scott desperately demanded, not noticing the sudden tension in the air as his emotions continued to run rampant.

"Be quiet!" Derek hushed him before breathing deeply through his nose. "Too late. They're here. Run!" He ordered a confused Scott before taking off.

Scott managed to stand and stumble two steps before the first flashbang arrow struck the tree to the left of him, making him swing his head around as the temporary blindness disoriented him. Flinging a hand out to clutch at a nearby tree for balance, he was instead rewarded by an arrow through his forearm, a cry of guttural pain escaping his mouth. Blood bubbled around the metal shaft, thick ropes travelling the curve of his arm and dropping onto the leaves below.

"Take him."

The shadows approaching Scott coalesced into three men, the leader being a middle-aged man with greying hair and a crossbow cradled in his arms.

Eyes wide, Scott watched as the figure on the left suddenly dropped to the ground revealing Fred standing there with a grin on her face that made him feel just a hint of fear. There was something ruthless in it, a sharp edge he wouldn't have associated with the blonde until now. A sharp pain arm stole his attention away from the small girl and back to where Derek had just yanked the bolt from his arm.

"Come on!" Derek hissed before dragging the injured teen away. In his peripheral Scott watched as the other man flanking the leader dropped to the ground and a flash of blonde hair in the darkness.

After running for what felt like hours Scott collapsed to the ground, his overly pronounced brow and flattened nose morphing back into his usual features while his fangs retracted and the gold of his eyes dimmed. Panting, he clutched at a tree for support and leaned back to peer up at Derek.

"Who were they?"

"Hunters," Derek answered while turning on the spot, preparing for any sign of approach, "Their kind has been hunting us for centuries."

"Us?!" Scott shouted as he pushed himself into a standing position through sheer force of will, sagging back against the tree for support. "You mean _you_! You did this to me!"

"Is it really so bad, Scott?" Derek queried, stepping closer with an almost manic intensity to his green eyes. "That you can see better, hear more clearly, move faster than any human could ever hope? You've been given something most people would kill for. The Bite is a gift."

"I don't want it!" Scott protested, the look on Derek's face suggesting that he thought it the response of an ungrateful child.

"You will," Derek replied confidently. "And you're gonna need me if you want to learn to control it. So you and me, Scott," leaning in close, one hand on Scott's shoulder, he maintained eye-contact, "We're brothers now."

Turning, Derek strode off into the night, a snort drawing Scott's attention to the small blonde who was watching his exit with a look of amusement.

"Hey Scott," Fred approached the boy with a softness to her features that he had discovered was quite rare in the last week of knowing her. Despite her small and delicate appearance, the girl was all sharp edges.

"So are you my sister then?" He muttered sullenly, looking up at her from under sweat-soaked hair with no small measure of distrust. What was this girl that he had been calling a friend the past week doing in the woods with Derek Hale? Again? And why was she acting as though everything that had just transpired wasn't weird? His only explanation was that she was also a werewolf.

"Fuck, no," Fred informed him not unkindly. "That was just weird. I'm your friend. Or, at least, I assume we're still friends. I'd understand if we weren't."

"Are you a werewolf too?" He needed it confirmed.

"No," She replied firmly. "But that's a conversation for another time. For now, shall we get you home before your nipples take someone's eye out? Next time you want to run off into the woods in the middle of the night might I suggest wearing a shirt?"

A laugh barked from between his lips, seeming to surprise Scott just as much as it did Fred. Smiling despite everything he took the hand she offered to him, noticing just how easily she pulled him to his feet. He had to admit, he was thankful for her particular brand of dry humour adding a much-needed levity to his situation. As he had often heard his mother say, if he didn't laugh he would cry.

A saying that very much applied here.

"I'd offer you my jacket," Fred said conversationally as they began walking, as though they were discussing the weather, "But I don't think it's your size."

"I could probably wear your dress as a shirt, so I can't say you're wrong," Scott pointed out with a rueful grin, earning himself a narrow look in response and a playful eye roll.

"Is Allison actually alright?" He asked after walking in silence for several minutes.

"She's at home, safe and sound," Fred assured. "Most likely wrapped up in bed, which coincidentally is where I'd like to be right about now."

"I hear you," Scott muttered with a soft shiver.

"And hey," she added, "If it makes you feel better, Derek Hale is apparently the biggest drama queen to roam the earth since Sirius Black."

Scott laughed again. The sun had begun to rise and with it came a warm golden glow over everything, the kind of sunrise that made you think everything would be alright. That somehow, things weren't actually that bad.

"Fred?" Scott's voice was nervous as he glanced over at the girl.

"Hmm?" It took her a few steps to realise he had stopped moving and she turned to face him expectantly.

Staring at his feet he shifted uncomfortably before looking at her through the fall of hair curling on his forehead. "I don't want this. I don't want to be a monster."

Emotions flickered across her face as she regarded him, taking in his statement. Pain, guilt, sympathy. Taking a deep breath she approached him with that same gentleness from earlier. She slipped into it so easily that Scott couldn't help but wonder if this was the real Fred. The girl lightly squeezing the tips of his fingers while staring up at him with earnest blue eyes. Not the smart-mouthed bitter young woman she so often portrayed.

"I've seen monsters - and you're not even close."

"But those people back there? The ones with the arrows - they wanted to _kill_ me," Scott protested.

" _Those people_ ," Fred said the words as though they left a foul taste in her mouth, small nose wrinkled in disgust, "are essentially scared children running around with crossbows hunting down anything they deem 'inhuman'. They see the world only through the lens of their beliefs, and to me that makes them the real monsters."

* * *

 **AN:**

 **As always thanks to missjanuarylily for being my beta and huntsthemoon for being my constant support and cheerleader.**

 **I appreciate every single review you guys left me: princessdarkness12, dreamerwithapen, daystorm, corahaale, Lammy, tinycurmudgeon (I'm glad you're with me again!), and yourpalmoony.**

 **I can't wait to hear what you all thought of this chapter, especially since shits starting to actually happen now! We are DONE with the first episode and moving onto the second.**

 **\- susiesamurai xoxo**


	6. And Then She Headbutted Him

**Chapter Six**

 _ **And Then She Headbutted Him**_

Disclaimer: I do not own BTVS or Teen Wolf, nor do I earn any form of income from this work of fiction.

* * *

"Where'd you run away to Friday night?"

Fred looked up from her book to find Jackson straddling the back of his chair and staring at her expectantly. A glance across at Danny was received with a shrug, the boy looked equally surprised that Jackson had even noticed her absence at the party with how far his tongue had been down Lydia's throat. As it was, Fred had had no less than three texts from Danny on Saturday morning stating how disappointed he was in her for not even saying hi to him before running off.

In the end she had agreed to go clubbing with him some time in the near future just to get him off her back.

"I had to get Allison home." Fred gave a one-shouldered shrug in answer. "Scott had to book and she was left without a ride."

"I heard McCall ditched her," Jackson said smugly. Granted, smug seemed to be his default-setting so it wasn't anything new. "Guess he couldn't handle whatever he's been taking to cheat his way onto the team."

"You know I'm friends with Scott," Fred exasperatedly reminded him. Again. "And you also know that I'm refusing to take sides in your Montague-Capulet feud with him - I will not play Mercutio as I'd rather not be skewered on your metaphorical sword thank you very much."

 _Romeo + Juliet_ had been one of her favourite movies during her Leonardo Dicaprio obsession three years ago. Judge all you want, but _Fred Dicaprio_ had been scribbled in the margins of all her middle-school notebooks and she would go down with that ship. True story.

Looking as though he wanted to argue the point, Jackson instead shook his head and muttered, "You're so weird. I can't believe I'm friends with you."

"Wow." Sarcasm dripped so heavily from Fred's lips it was a surprise they weren't numb. "Does this mean you don't want the matching friendship bracelet I made you? I was hoping that maybe later you wanted to come over and we could braid each others hair, but now I see that plan was doomed from the beginning."

Next to her was a strange choking spluttering sound as Danny attempted to smother his laughter while Jackson glared at his best friend. "So, are you coming to the game this weekend?" Jackson stopped looking unimpressed long enough to ask.

"I guess." Fred raised her eyebrows. "Didn't you know? Lacrosse is _the_ game in Beacon Hills. Missing a game is suitable grounds for organising a lynch-mob. I mean violence, bad language, we're talking a whole lot of adult content here." Ignoring his bitch face while Danny chortled next to her Fred continued, "Look, I'm sacrificing my Saturday afternoon to the gods of Arts and Crafts to make signs with your girlfriend. I'm assuming she'll need someone other than Allison to help her hold them up, unfortunately."

Honestly, Fred couldn't think of a worse way to spend her Saturday afternoon. But when Allison had asked her with those big brown eyes of hers all full of hope she just couldn't say no. It was almost like witchcraft, how quickly the girl had her wrapped around a finger. Witchcraft, she tells ya.

"You're making signs?" Jackson perked up as he leaned forward to cheekily ask, "Are you gonna make me one?"

"I would say it's more likely that your _girlfriend_ would be in charge of that particular sign," Fred pointed out with great relish.

"Mr Whittemore, if your would be so kind as to face the front of the class so we may begin?"

Whatever response Jackson had planned got cut off by Mr Smith and he turned to face the front with a scowl marring his pretty features.

Sharing a smug look with Danny, Fred prepared herself for spending the rest of the lesson attempting to wrap her head around the quadratic formula. Truthfully, fighting a vampire was easier.

* * *

"Scott McCall is _such_ a freakazoid!"

Allison stopped in the middle of her story about how Scott had apologised to her yesterday after school with absolutely no explanation why he had taken off Friday night, and whether Fred thought it was a bad idea of her to give him a second chance or not. Naturally, Fred's opinion on the matter was that if she liked Scott then why should she let anything else or anyone else stand in the way of that? Even if it wasn't a good idea, life was too short to get hung up on things they should or shouldn't do. Tomorrow, you could be dead. An occurrence that was becoming increasingly more likely with a murderous Alpha roaming the streets after dark.

Both girls stared at a decidedly upset Lydia as she marched up to them, fists clenched at her sides and her cheeks flushed with fury, footfalls sounding like gunshots whenever those five-inch heels hit the linoleum floor. If Fred didn't dislike her so much she'd be impressed. Okay, maybe she was still a little impressed with the general aura of doom lingering around the redhead. A little. Barely.

"Is this for something in particular or just a general observation?" Fred asked in a lazy drawl as Allison continued to stare at Lydia in frightened awe. The girl was five-foot-three-inches of righteous anger and brought to mind the stories of Valkyries that Fred's father had told her before bed as a child. Fearsome women who would guide fallen warriors to Valhalla if they died with honour on the battlefield.

Or maybe a harpy, with the way she could screech.

"Your boyfriend," Lydia spun on Allison who seemed to take an involuntary step backwards with a look of bewilderment. "Needs to seriously control his 'roid rage. Thanks to him Jackson is now in the hospital with a separated shoulder. What if he can't play this Saturday? It'll all be Scott-freaking-McCall's fault!"

With a roll of her eyes Fred forced herself between the two girls making Lydia take a firm step back. "Firstly, you can't blame Allison for this so back the fuck off. Secondly, if Jackson can't handle a little separated shoulder then he needs to sort his shit out. It's not as though Scott ripped the guys arm off."

None of these people would survive Slayer Bootcamp, Fred swore. In Sunnydale if you got knocked down you stood back up. And if you got dead, well, you walked that off. Fred herself had left that battle with the First nursing a concussion, fractured cheekbone, broken wrist, and a multitude of cuts and bruises. A separated shoulder was child's play.

Narrowing her eyes, Lydia's moss-green gaze flicked between the two girls before her, inevitably coming to the conclusion that if she was to force Allison's hand at this point the girl would pick Fred over her. Deciding to pick her battles and leave the disrespectful way that the blonde had spoken alone for now, Lydia instead huffed, "Ugh, fine!" with a toss of her hair. "Just so we're clear though, Scott McCall is currently Public Enemy Number One." She pinned Allison with a look that promised bodily harm if she were crossed, "and we don't fraternize with the enemy."

"Cut the theatrics, Regina George." Fred drew the girls ire back to herself, nodding her head subtly in reply to the look of thanks Allison shot her.

Being the subject of Lydia's fury was a sacrifice Fred was willing to make when it came to Allison. The girl was like the living embodiment of a Disney princess and didn't deserve Lydia's misplaced wrath. Scott wasn't even officially her boyfriend yet - they'd only known each other for all of a week and had one somewhat disastrous date. Forcing her to take responsibility for him was just cruel and unusual punishment. He was a teenage boy, not a stray puppy Allison had rescued from the side of the road.

As Allison very obviously changed the subject by asking Lydia where she got her shoes, Fred leaned back against the locker behind her with a weary sigh. This is what she got for having a quiet afternoon at home yesterday instead of keeping a constant watch on Scott, it seemed. While she was doing homework, training, and researching with Kevin, Scott was off ruining peoples high school lacrosse careers.

Apparently even teenage Slayers didn't get any time off.

* * *

At lunch Fred dropped down next to Stiles who almost tipped his chair backwards in surprise as she slammed her tray against the table, staring across it at a wide-eyed Scott McCall.

"Uh, hi Fred," Scott smiled nervously. With an entrance like that, could you really blame him. It had only been a week since he had met Fred and he already knew he didn't particularly want to be on her bad side. For a girl that barely reached his shoulder she was surprisingly intimidating.

"Hi Scott," she replied with a misleading smile and tilt of her head. It was as reassuring as a lacrosse ball to the face.

"Why is she sitting with us?" Stiles asked, gesturing between his best friend and the blonde with a fork. A look of utter bewilderment on his face. "Why are you sitting with us?"

Ignoring him, Fred continued to smile at Scott, "How was practice?"

"It-uh-it was okay." Blue eyes followed the bob of his throat as Scott swallowed while attempting a casual shrug. He didn't pull it off well. "Pretty boring, actually."

"Oh?" Fred sounded interested until her voice grew hard. "Separating Jackson's shoulder was ' _pretty boring_ ' then?"

"God, it's not like he didn't deserve it!" Stiles burst out next to her, Fred pointedly ignoring him and keeping her attention on Scott who was beginning to squirm beneath the weight of her gaze. Meanwhile Stiles grew increasingly more red the longer he was ignored. "He was being a tool!"

If Fred separated the shoulder of every person who deserved it, she'd be declared a menace to society. Surely Stiles knew the phrase 'with great power comes great responsibility'? He seemed like the type to own a plethora of pop-culture paraphernalia, if not have a Star Trek shrine set up in his closet.

"Why aren't you and Derek working on your control yet?" She demanded. "This is important! You could've killed Jackson. What if it's Stiles next time? I can't be around twenty-four-seven to keep you from going full Cujo. It's bad enough that I'm gonna have to start watching all of your lacrosse games - I don't want to have to sit in on every fucking practice too!"

At the way the colour drained from Scott's face and how Stiles went eerily silent and began fidgeting in his chair Fred grew instantly suspicious. Something else had happened, something they didn't want her to know. Unfortunately for them Fred was tenacious when it came to uncovering secrets. Switching her gaze between the two boys she very calmly asked, "What happened?"

Now it was just a matter of who would break first.

"The-there was just a little-a little _accident_ I guess you could say -" Stiles began stuttering as he waved his hands around in agitation, red blotches appearing high on his cheekbones. "But we-we handled it, okay? _We_ handled it without _you_ or _Derek_."

"You almost _killed_ Stiles?" Fred whisper-shouted at Scott who looked taken-aback by her reaction. "When were you planning on telling me? His fucking funeral?"

"I-uh-I didn't think you liked me?" Stiles quietly stated. Stunned would be an understatement for the way he looked right then. If you compared Stiles' expression in that moment with one of someone who had just been hit in the face by, say, something large and unexpected it would come pretty damn close.

Spinning on him exasperatedly Fred pinned him with a look that was all raised eyebrows and incredulous eyes. "I don't want you fucking _dead_!"

"Oh." Brown eyes were wide as he stared at her dumbly. Literally struck dumb by the notion that Fred cared if he lived or died. Incredible.

When had Fred ever said that she didn't like him? Just because she thought he needed to think before opening his mouth sometimes didn't mean she disliked him. He was just too soft and vulnerable and _human_ to be messing around with something as unpredictably volatile as fucking werewolves in her opinion.

Sticking a hand in each boys face Fred flicked her fingers in a 'give me' motion. "Alright then, phones - hand them over." As they both continued to stare blankly at her hands Fred flicked her fingers more aggressively and repeated, "Phones - now."

Seconds later she had a phone in each hand and efficiently entered her details into both of their contact lists, sending a text from each phone to hers so she had their numbers also. On a whim, Fred also added Derek's number into Scott's phone - texting was a much easier and less creepy option than Derek continuing to stalk the kid. Passing the phones back to them Fred instructed, "Next time you feel your life is in danger - text me."

As Stiles stared at his phone in stunned silence Scott vigorously nodded his head up and down as he gazed at her with those big puppy-dog eyes. "We will, I promise," Scott told Fred earnestly. At this point he would probably promise her anything though. She idly entertained the idea of jokingly requesting his first-born. "Right, Stiles?"

"What?" Stiles looked up, obviously having missed what Scott had said while being consumed by his own thoughts. "Yeah, sure, whatever."

Rising from the table Fred was halted as Stiles' hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist. A bold move while not necessarily a smart one. "How do you know so much anyway?" He asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "If you're not a werewolf, what are you?"

"That," Fred said, prying her arm from his grip none too gently, "is a conversation better had someplace that isn't a high school cafeteria, since you don't know how to control the volume of your voice."

"Answer the question!" Stiles insisted, his face a war of emotions: suspicion, irritation, curiosity, grudging respect. It was impressive how emotive he was. And exhausting. As though he were a walking, talking, Picasso painting.

Walking away, Fred shot him a teasing smirk over her shoulder.

"I'm the thing monsters have nightmares about."

* * *

They had only been in the car for fifteen minutes and Fred was contemplating whether or not it was worth grabbing the steering wheel and forcing her and Lydia off the road and into a tree.

Thankfully they had just pulled to a stop outside her apartment building, saving Fred from her murderous daydreams. In retribution for her attitude earlier in the day about Jackson's injury, Lydia had forced both Allison and Fred to accompany her to the hospital. Once again, one look from Allison and Fred felt all resistance crumble and resigned herself to spending the afternoon listening to whatever inane chatter fell from Lydia's highly glossed lips.

It had taken a Herculean effort on Fred's part not to throw herself from Jackson's third-floor window after the first ten minutes.

Letting out a sound of appreciation Lydia drawled, "Who is that?"

Following her line of sight Fred took in Derek leaning up against the gated entrance of Fred's apartment building. A simple two-storey complex that curved around a communal swimming pool and was a mixture of off-white weatherboard and stained-glass. The werewolf in question had his arms crossed as he glared moodily into middle-distance. "Oh," Fred shrugged, "that's just Derek."

"And you," Lydia gestured towards her with one perfectly painted nail, "just got a whole lot more interesting."

Eyes widening Fred was quick to say, "No, it's not like that."

"I never took you to be the type to have an older boyfriend," Lydia informed her with a thoughtful expression. "We'll definitely be discussing this later."

"No, we fucking won't," Fred gestured between Derek and herself with a finger, "because there's nothing to discuss. Derek and I are decidedly not together. That is not a thing that is happening."

As Fred was shooed out of the car, Lydia raising her eyebrows suggestively in Derek's direction and ignoring her protests, she wondered how amused Derek would be if he found out that come tomorrow most of Beacon Hills' student population would think that they were dating. Fred's guess was, not very.

"Derek," Fred said with mock-exasperation as she walked up to him, "my answer is final - I will not go to prom with you."

The older wolf stared down at her unimpressed as she moved past him to unlatch the gate and ushered him inside. "Cute," he replied deadpan.

"Aren't I just?" Fred shot over her shoulder as she led him around the pool and up the stairs on the far right. "But seriously, why are you darkening my doorstep McBroody?"

Shooting Fred a look that said he definitely didn't approve of the nickname, he trailed behind her as she opened the door to her apartment, "I'm here to help you learn how to fight werewolves."

Quickly abandoning her search for wherever Kevin had hidden the chocolate pop tarts Fred had snuck in their last trip to the grocery store, she stared at Derek with excitement, "You want to spar? With me?"

Taken aback by the eagerness in her gaze Derek slowly said, "Yes?"

"As in full strength, no holds barred, no concerns about unintentionally causing you bodily trauma sparring?" It was like Christmas, Easter, and her birthday all at once.

Fred hadn't been able to partake in a proper sparring session since leaving HQ. Working through her katas was all well and good in keeping her muscle-memory in place, and Kevin did all he could to help with her reflexes and agility, but she still had to make a conscious effort to hold back. To only strike with a fifth of the force she was capable of. The only time Fred was able to really let loose was during fencing bouts with Kevin, and that was only because the man was an artist with a sword and most of the time Fred was concentrating on not allowing him to disarm her.

Shifting slightly Derek peered at her and again cautiously answered, "...yes?"

"Fuck yes!"

Leaving a bewildered Derek standing awkwardly in her living-room, Fred rushed to the end of the hall and slammed her bedroom door behind her in excitement. Tearing off her clothes she hopped around her room like a demented rabbit with her jeans caught around one ankle as she desperately pulled out drawers in search of workout clothing. Only once she had strewn over half of her wardrobe across her room, and caused enough noise to make Derek concerned she was fighting the Alpha, did Fred finally emerge dressed in yoga-pants and a tank-top.

Fingers wrapping tight around his wrist she pulled him back out the front door and along the balcony and back down the stairs. Frowning as they left the apartment-complex and headed down the street, Derek's silent question was answered as Fred said, "There's a park just down a bit that we've been using for training. The apartment's a bit small for rough-housing if you didn't notice."

"I did notice that…"

"Ah well," Fred shrugged in a 'what can you do' manner, "Being a Slayer or Watcher isn't exactly a six-figure salary, you know?"

Luckily for Derek he was spared any further insight into the financial plights of divine warriors and their pseudo-dad's by their arrival at the park. It was nice enough with thick grass and a small playground at one end, already occupied by a few children while their mom's sat on benches discussing that _Fifty Shades Of Grey_ novel or playing _Candy Crush_. One or two people were out walking their dogs, but the majority of joggers and dog-walkers tended to stick to the trails through the preserve. Although, thanks to recent press, it wasn't surprising that the citizens of Beacon Hills were giving the woods a wide berth.

"I see you've healed up nicely," Derek awkwardly gestured to the three pink lines that were on display thanks to her tank-top, a souvenir from Fred's first run-in with the Alpha.

"Oh, these?" Fred cocked her head with a smirk. "These are _nothing_. You should've seen me after going a few rounds with the Uber-Vamp army."

" _Uber-Vamp_?"

Waving a hand around flippantly Fred explained, "Turok-Han, they're like the original vampires. Giles described them as neanderthal vamps. We had to fight a fucking army of them in the Hellmouth. It was great fun - for a Slayer. Lots of fond memories there. I don't recommend visiting though, it got terrible reviews online."

If fun was synonymous with 'one of the most terrifying experiences of her life' that was. However, Fred couldn't show any weakness in front of Derek at this point, or at all really. As far as the older werewolf was concerned Fred was everything the myth of the Slayer painted her to be. Capable. Fearless. Powerful.

If only she could buy what she was selling.

"So," Fred moved to the far side of the park under the shade of a large tree, beginning to move through a series of stretches, "are you going to wolf-out for this or keep your pretty face on?"

Making a face at her, Derek shucked off his jacket and approached choosing to keep his shoes on and not to stretch. Fred absently noted that if he got a muscle-cramp there would be zero sympathy on her end. "Unlike Scott, I don't need to be fully shifted in order to use my full strength."

"Alright, pretty face it is," Fred pulled her fist back and sent it towards his face while she was still talking. Sportsmanship was for losers, anyway.

Derek batted it to the side with his forearm, following up with a right hook of his own that Fred redirected before drawing up a knee and kicking him square in the stomach. His eyes widened, flickering to blue and back, as he slid back several feet while impressively managing to remain standing the whole time. Grass and dirt were churned into parallel lines, little trenches that ended in heaping piles around his boots. With a feral grin Fred ran at him and aimed a roundhouse kick towards his head, a hand shot out and fingers wrapped around her ankle to send her spinning to the ground. Catching herself Fred pushed up into a handspring and landed in a fighting crouch with her fists held defensively in front of her as Derek approached.

Once again they traded blows, each of them managing to counter the others punches, until Derek gained the upper-hand as he slipped through Fred's guard and slammed an open palm against her chest. Flying back through the air Fred hit the trunk of the tree behind her with a soft grunt, Derek on her in an instant and she dropped just as his fist hit the tree where her head had been, bark exploding into the air from the force of his punch. Slipping between his spread legs Fred sprung up and once again kicked him behind the knee, following up with two quick jabs to the kidney and then bringing a knee up to hit him full-force in the small of his back, sending Derek face-first into the tree.

A growl began low in his throat as he pushed off the wall and spun to face the cocky Slayer as she danced out of the range of his curved fingers. When he launched himself at her his eyes were glowing bright blue in the late afternoon sunlight and those dark brows were pulled tight in concentration. Arms wrapped around Fred's waist like bands of steel and he drove her to the ground laying heavily across her, hips nestled between her thighs before he drew back on his haunches. Grinning up at him Fred waggled her eyebrows suggestively as she locked her ankles tight around his waist and arched her back.

Not giving her a chance to do anything Derek was quick to pin down both of her wrists on either side of her head, leaning in close as he bore down with his superior weight. One-hundred and seventy pounds of strapping young werewolf was enough to give any girl a little trouble.

However, Fred was used to fighting opponents larger than herself - at five-foot-one it was hard to find anyone smaller, in all honesty.

"Yield?" He growled lowly, breath cool against her flushed skin.

"And miss the look on your face?" Fred laughed breathlessly. "Fuck no."

And then she headbutted him.

While he was distracted Fred dropped one leg down to curve next to his while driving her other knee into his waist to force him sideways. As Derek's grip loosened on her wrists she reaches out and fisted a hand in the material of his shirt at the shoulder, twisting to use her entire body-weight to force him down. In seconds their situation was reversed and Fred was straddling his hips as Derek glared up at her with grudging respect. Blood was smeared over his face from where she had broken his nose and she couldn't help but compare him to a warrior king.

Balling up her fist Fred aimed a punch towards his face that Derek caught, feeling his body shift beneath her as she attempted to yank her hand back. With a buck of his hips she was dislodged and in the distraction he gripped her shoulders and sent her flying over him.

After landing heavily Fred clambered to her feet and looked over to where Derek had done the same.

Letting out a soft huff, Fred offered with a sardonic lift of her eyebrows, "Tie?"

"Tie," Derek agreed as the golden glow of the setting sun washed over them, illuminating the equally rumpled and grass-covered pair as the last ones left in the park. It appeared their sparring match had lasted the better part of an hour.

Stretching her neck to the side Fred was quick to brush of the small clumps of dirt and grass that were irritating her skin, an uncomfortable itch blooming in their wake that she knew wouldn't disappear without a shower. Even covered in sweat, dirt, and smears of Derek's blood however, the young girl felt better than she had in awhile. Adrenaline still flooded her veins, the thrill of the fight causing an addictive hum that settled in the pit of her stomach.

"How quickly do you heal?"

Frowning as he retrieved his jacket, interpreting her question as concern over breaking his nose, Derek answered, "Depending on the wound it can take anywhere between a few hours to a few days. Why?"

With a devilish curve to her lips Fred replied, "Because next time we could use weapons."

"How fast do you heal?" There was a flippancy to his question that lead Fred to believe that he didn't want her to realise he was genuinely curious as she lead the way back to her apartment.

"Fairly similar to you," Fred gestured to herself with a dramatic flourish, "As you can see, our encounter has left me relatively unscathed." Blue eyes narrowed at him in warning as she turned the key in the lock to her apartment, "So next time, don't hold back."

Green eyes widened in surprise as Derek was quick to retort, "I wasn't holding back."

Patting his arm patronisingly as she stepped around him and inside, Fred shot over her shoulder, "Sure you weren't, big guy."

Eyes adjusting, Fred very quickly spied Kevin standing at the kitchen counter with a cup of tea in his hands. The top few buttons of his white Oxford were undone and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, a sure sign he hadn't been long home, and his dark eyes were quick to take in the sight of the large werewolf lurking behind his ward. Taking in both of their rumpled states, the grass and smears of dirt caught in Fred's tangled hair and colouring her pale skin, the drying blood on Derek's chin and shirt collar. Many assumptions could be made and Kevin tried his hardest to avoid all of them.

"Hello, love."

Moving into the kitchen Fred grabbed a hand-towel and after running it under the tap was quick to pass it over to Derek. Jumping up onto the counter, ignoring Kevin's sigh of disapproval, Fred was quick to introduce the two, "Derek, this is my Watcher - Kevin Jones. Kevin, this is Derek Hale our resident werewolf expert. Kevin's British, Derek likes to speak with his eyebrows - you kids have fun."

Glaring at the facetious blonde Derek began to wipe away the blood with the towel as Kevin looked him up and down as though he were measuring the wolfs worth. "So, Derek," Kevin began conversationally, "just how old are you?"

Appearing taken off-guard at the line of questioning, Derek answered with a confused lilt to his voice, "I'm twenty-two."

Realising what Kevin was getting at, Fred glanced between the two men in abject horror. "Oh, God, don't fucking go there Kevin," she pleaded under her breath, Derek's head twitching in her direction a dead giveaway that he'd heard her.

"As I'm sure you're aware, Fred is only sixteen," Kevin continued in a tone that was misleadingly pleasant.

"I am aware," Derek's voice was flat, and as he glanced over to Fred she winced in sympathy. "Is this where you threaten me?"

"Oh, I don't need to threaten you," Kevin chuckled, genuinely amused by the thought. "Fred's more than capable of doing that herself." He grew serious once more as he pinned Derek with a hard stare, "However, I will say that I have access to a very rare strain of wolfsbane and I'm very good at making things look like an accident."

As Fred fought the urge to repeatedly slam her head into the wall Derek shifted awkwardly in place avoiding eye-contact with everyone in the room. Not that she blamed him seeing as Kevin had low-key threatened his life if he ever made any advances that Kevin regarded as sexual or untoward.

A rush of frustration ran through her once again as she concluded that it would be a miracle to get the guy to spar with her again without the constant question of whether he might be accused of felony sexual assault running through his head. Awesome.

* * *

 **A/N: And here we are with chapter six! Many many eternal thanks to my beta missjanuarylily and my constant source of validation huntsthemoon.**

 **Now, onto my lovely reviewers! Thank you to lammy, corahaale, justmeesh33, princessdarkness12, and wayward jules! You guys are amazing and I appreciate your feedback so so so so much.**

 **Until next time,**

 **\- susiesamurai xoxo**


	7. Only In Beacon Hills

**Chapter Seven**

 ** _Only In Beacon Hills_**

Disclaimer: I do not own BTVS or Teen Wolf, nor do I earn any form of financial gain from this work of fiction.

* * *

"Guess who's got a present?"

Popping his head around the corner of her bedroom door Kevin was greeted by the sight of Fred frowning at her laptop as though it were a particularly difficult math equation. At the sound of his voice, however, his young ward pushed herself back from her desk and spun around in her chair to face him. With her hands clasped beneath her chin and her blue eyes wide with childlike excitement she looked a lot more like a sixteen year old girl and less like the soldier he had grown accustomed to. It was a look he'd like to see on her more often. A look he vowed to see on her more often.

"You got me a pony?"

Brows were raised as he questioned whether she was being serious or taking the piss as usual, "Uh, no."

Face falling instantly, Fred turned back to her laptop in a clear indication of how uninterested she was in her present until it was of the equine persuasion. How she seriously expected him to fit a bloody horse behind his back, however, was beyond him. Were all teenage girls like this?

Taking a shot in the dark he offered, "But it's shiny?"

Tentatively casting a curious look in his direction, reminding him quite a bit of a cat who was trying to decide if the mysterious noise across the room was worth investigating, Fred questioned, "Shiny?"

"Very," he nodded an affirmative, trying to remember if he had ever had to try this hard to give a female a gift before.

Holding out one hand Fred very childishly replied, "Gimme."

Dropping the brown paper covered package into her hand, Kevin watched as she pulled at the twine tied around it, her thin brows drawn together as she concentrated on the task. As she pulled the lid off the simple cardboard jewellery box within the wrapping, an almost tender expression passed across her face. It was quick to disappear, however. Like she was scared of showing any genuine emotion. Anything that wasn't the bloody sardonic humor she used to stop anyone from looking too closely.

But he looked. And he saw. And although what he could see was concerning at this point he was more concerned in pushing her too hard.

There was an eagerness surrounding Fred as she hurried to slip on the bracelet he had gotten her. A witch down in New Orleans owed him a favour from way back and as soon as he'd discovered the strain of lycanthropy they were dealing with, Kevin was quick to call that favour in. Now a week later his Slayer was armed with a wolfsbane infused amulet that would make her job of identifying potential werewolves a hell of a lot easier than antagonising them.

Although knowing his Slayer, the antagonism was probably less of a game plan and more of a natural occurrence.

Looking up from where she had been inspecting the bracelet, "I'm assuming this is my anti-werewolf accessory, Q?" Fred grinned wryly, "Fashionable yet functional."

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly Kevin continued the joke by pushing imaginary glasses up his nose while continuing to lean against the doorway. "That would be correct, Bond. That thing's got enough wolfsbane in it to make any werewolves who get close just a _tad_ uncomfortable. Twitchy enough for you to tell what they are, anyway."

"How wizard."

Hearing the phrase he often spouted himself fall easily from Fred's lips made his features soften and a slight warmth bloom within his chest. Is this what parents felt when their kids liked decent music or wore their trousers high enough to cover their underwear? Whatever it was, he liked it.

"Quite."

Somehow this angry little girl had wiggled her way inside his heart. Kevin still wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Perhaps if the old Watcher's Council hadn't been blown to itty bitty pieces the answer would be a resounding no. WIth their short lifespans it was never a clever idea to get attached to your Slayer. However, they were in a new age with a new council that seemed to legitimately care for its soldiers. Even if they were still treated like soldiers.

Somehow he couldn't help but feel as though Rupert Giles and Xander Harris would be pleased to know that he was starting to view Fred less like an obligation and more like family.

"So, I noticed that Derek hasn't been around much this week?" Kevin broached the subject of the older werewolf with a near practiced nonchalance, knowing his absence was a touchy subject. Fred's frustration with his avoidance of her had grown near palpable the last few days.

Casting a look at him through her lashes that would make a lesser man tremble she accused, "Well, your little chat with him on Tuesday couldn't have anything to do with that, could it?" He at least had the good graces to give a slight wince of guilt. "So thanks for scaring off my potential sparring partner. You know, the only person in this town who could heal if I accidentally shatter his cheekbone?"

With a sigh Kevin rubbed at his jaw, fingers scratching against the dark stubble dusting his tanned skin. He had expected some hostility but that didn't make him feel any less sheepish by her reaction. Sure, he might have taken the overprotective act a little too far but once he had seen the two of them looking as though they'd just taken a good tumble in the grass common sense had flown out the window. It had actually been startling just how quickly it had gotten his hackles up, having to repress the urge to hide Fred behind him and out of Derek's line of sight. If this was something all parents had to deal with why the hell did they have bloody kids? It was exhausting.

"I was just trying to look out for you, love. I'm not here to train you up and send you off to supernatural war - I'm here to look after you. You're my responsibility as a person, not a soldier." Working his jaw as he deliberated over whether his next words were wise or not and ultimately deciding that it didn't matter he added, "When I saw the two of you I was...concerned."

"I'm not Buffy."

Kevin was shocked, demonstrated by the way he stared at her with raised brows and wide eyes while her words hung heavily in the now silent room. His mouth opened and closed several times as he attempted to process that statement, unsure of how to respond. "It's - well it's quite obvious you're not Buffy."

With a sigh, Fred elaborated on what she meant with those three loaded words. "I mean that you don't have to worry about me running off with some mysterious older guy and inadvertently bringing about the apocalypse. Yes, I like being around someone who's just as strong as I am, someone I don't have to worry about hurting if I go a bit too hard. But," a commanding finger was pointed in Kevin's direction, "that doesn't mean I want to jump Derek Hale's bones. The guy's six years older than me! Why would he go for a teenage girl? That's just fucking weird."

"I know."

Fred stopped her tirade at those two words, looking at him with questioning eyes and a confused tilt to her head. Blinking once, twice, she asked, "Say what?"

Pausing, Kevin considered his next words carefully before speaking again. A lot more carefully than he had earlier, "Derek Hale isn't wanting a girlfriend, Fred. He's wanting a family - a pack. He's desperate and lonely."

When it had become apparent that Fred wasn't going to run into Derek again unless she actively sought him out following their disastrous introduction, Kevin had done some research. It appeared that much like Fred herself, tragedy had ravaged Derek's life like a hurricane and left him standing alone in the wreckage. Newspaper reports had been split over whether it was arson or an accident that caused the Hale house to go up in flames. How the Hale family had been reduced to Derek, his older sister Laura, and an uncle who had suffered such terrible injuries he was now permanently hospitalised. Kevin suspecting that psychological trauma prevented the werewolf from healing himself.

Not really all that surprising.

"Did you know that is entire family burned to death in a house fire?" A sharp intake of breath came from the blonde, confirming that she was listening, however Fred was firmly avoiding Kevin's gaze as she stared determinedly at the floor. His question hitting a little too close to home, he reckoned. "And the sister that the Alpha killed, Laura, was one of two other survivors."

"Derek's an orphan," A bitter twist curved Fred's lips as she finally met Kevins eyes, "Can't say I don't relate."

Orphan. How he _hated_ that word. Hated all it suggested. Hated the way it made Fred's blue eyes cloud over and turn dark. The way it implied that one had simply _lost_ their parents, their family. Just carelessly misplaced them like a pencil or keys. As though there had been any form of choice in the matter.

As if there was ever a bloody choice.

Fred could understand Derek's loneliness and need for a family - a pack - because, despite her best efforts to appear aloof and alone, he knew she felt them too. Against her best judgement she had even tentatively begun to let people in; Dawn, himself, and perhaps even Allison from everything he had witnessed. Scott, his twitchy friend, bloody _Derek_. Yet there was always that fear that maybe, just maybe, Fred might lose them too.

It made her both hold on too tight and not tight enough. A constant push and pull that he feared would break her one day if she couldn't come to terms.

Coming to a decision Kevin was quick to stride over to the girl who suddenly appeared much smaller and lost than she actually was. Crouching down so they were at eye-level he braced himself against the arms of her desk chair, "If it means that much to you, Derek's welcome here. Whenever. I'll have a chat with him, apologise for being a prat, maybe engage in some manly bonding over football and a pint." A wry smile lifted his lips at the amusement that crossed her face with his words. "In fact, invite him round after the game. No time like the present, hmm?"

A genuine smile lit up her face, softening her hard edges as though he were looking at her through a pastel lense. He hadn't seen a smile like that often in the past six months. Tiny glimpses of the girl he used to watch over from across the street back in San Francisco. Hope that she wasn't completely lost made him feel as though perhaps he wasn't doing too bad at raising a teenage girl.

Sure, they were stumbling in the dark. But at least they were stumbling together.

Just as Kevin was debating whether it was appropriate to hug her a series of electronic noises split the air, Fred drawing back to look cautiously at the screen of her phone as the words ' _Unknown Number_ ' lit it up.

"Hello, Fred speaking?" Her eyebrows were scrunched up as she stared across at Kevin, equally bemused.

" _It's Derek. Scott and his idiot friend got me arrested."_ Derek sounded incredibly irate. His voice alone painting a picture of the man sitting in the sheriff's office with a scowl in place, furrowed brows, and green eyes burning a hole in anyone unfortunate enough to make eye contact.

"And you used your one phone call on me?" A teasing grin accompanied Fred's words as she switched to speaker-phone. "I'm touched."

" _Look, is there anything you or your Watcher can do?"_ It sounded as though Derek were forcing the words from between his teeth, unused to asking for help. Hell, the guy was probably unused to having people he could ask for help. It was a sobering thought for the man who had perhaps judged him unfairly and Kevin found his mouth pressing into a line.

"Remember, the first thing you gotta do is find the biggest _meanest_ looking guy and punch him in the face to establish dominance," Fred was deadly serious before she chuckled at her own joke following Derek's unamused silence, Kevin smirking across at her in solidarity. "Look, don't worry McBroody - you are _far_ too pretty for prison. We'll spring ya."

" _...thank you."_

Ending the call Fred regarded Kevin with a smirk tugging her lips, "Looks like you'll be making it up to Derek sooner than you thought. There's no greater foundation for a relationship than bailing a guy outta the clink."

"That your expert opinion, is it?"

"Saw it in a movie once," she shrugged.

"Oh," he drawled, "In that case it must be true."

Kevin left her in the middle of composing a strong-worded text to one Scott McCall to gather his things. If bailing the beta wolf out of jail was what it took to make his Slayer happy, then he would do it. Hell, if Derek could increase the frequency of those smiles and lift the weight from her shoulders, Kevin would give his blessing and merrily send the pair into the sunset.

Anything to make Fred happy.

* * *

"What's this?"

Reaching across the table Lydia snatched up Fred's arm with the sort of grip a Slayer would be proud of. Dragging the girl almost out of her seat as she brought the wolfsbane amulet around Fred's wrist closer to her face, Fred narrowly avoided spilling her caramel macchiato all over Allison's lap.

"That? That's nothing," Fred was aggressively blase as she began tugging her arm back, "just something my uncle thought I'd like."

Inspecting it a moment longer, possibly just to be irritating, Lydia finally released her arm with an approving incline of her perfectly styled head. "Well, your uncle has good taste," she declared before delicately taking a bite of her panini. "Very rockstar chic."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled with your approval," Fred grumbled as she settled back in her seat, Allison shooting her a sympathetic look from behind the plastic cup of pure sugar she called a frappuccino.

"Your uncle's our new librarian, right?" Lydia had a certain glint to her eye as she regarded Fred, a hunger that had absolutely nothing to do with her food.

"Last I checked," the words escaped from around the mouthful of chocolate brownie Fred had just bitten off.

"Well," Lydia licked her lips as she said with almost practiced indifference, "He can check me out anytime."

While Allison quietly choked on her drink at Lydia's blatant sexual implication towards Kevin, Fred gazed at her impassively. "I'll be sure to let Jackson know he's not enough for you anymore then, Kevin's not really the type to share," the blonde pulled out her phone and brought out her messaging app, relishing the panic in Lydia's eyes as she realised she had seriously miscalculated. "Maybe he'll play extra hard tonight in an attempt to win you back with a display of sheer machismo?"

"Okay guys, jokes over," Allison tried to salvage whatever semblance of a pleasant lunch they had been attempting. The Disney princess look was out in full-force. It wouldn't have been out of place if cartoon birds began braiding her hair right then and there in the middle of Starbucks.

Initially seeing the Starbucks as a possible interlude from the constant sniping between Fred and Lydia this past hour she was quickly discovering that it was in fact not the case. Both girls were as bad as the other, antagonising in a way that was only achieved by siblings or people with clashing personalities being forced to interact.

Silence fell over the table, Fred mulishly shoving her brownie into her mouth in increasingly large increments drawing pleasure from the blatant disgust on Lydia's face. It made her wonder just what it was about this girl that got to her so much. There had to be more than just the blatant high school cliche of butting heads with the resident _Regina George_.

Whatever realisation she was rapidly approaching was blown out of the water as Allison leaned in close with a conspiratorial smile on her face, "The barista has been looking at you since we got here."

Thinking back on the frankly barbaric way she had been consuming her food, Fred found herself doubtful of Allison's observation. Raising a brow in disbelief she lightly replied, "Not likely, Ally A."

"Prepare to eat your words," Allison winked, "because he's looking at you right now."

Glancing over her shoulder Fred made eye-contact with the barista in question as he wiped down the coffee machine, a soft grin lighting up his face when he noticed her gaze. A warmth bloomed in her chest at the gesture, blinded by the whiteness of his teeth and the way his eyes crinkled in the corners. It was a familiar feeling, if not entirely unwelcome, bringing back memories of bonfire parties and boys with tanned skin who smelled like the sea.

"He's cute," Allison drew Fred's attention back to her, a satisfied smile dimpling her cheeks as she noticed the delicate pink colouring her friends cheeks.

"Allison!" Fred was quick to shift the attention to her friend, desperate for a distraction. "What about Scott? Are you so fickle that some pretty boy can just bat his big blue eyes your way and it's suddenly 'Scott who?'"

"Pretty boy, huh?" Allison locked onto her words with a grin that promised nothing but trouble. "Big blue eyes too?"

"Oh shut up!" Responding to the smugness on her friends face with a roll of her eyes. "The boy's cute and possibly looking at me. Doesn't mean we're five seconds from declaring our love through song."

"Of course not," Lydia finally spoke up, smiling in a way that was reminiscent of a shark considering their prey, "Why have barista boy when you've got Derek? I bet it's nothing but R-rated goodness beneath all that leather and brooding."

"For fucks sake!" Fred burst out, uncaring that her raised voice had attracted the attention of almost sixty-percent of the room, "I told you Derek _isn't my boyfriend_. He's…" Pausing as she struggled to think up a plausible role for Derek to play in her life and finally settled with, "...the guy's like my _brother_ alright?"

"Well," persistent, Allison nudged her with an elbow, "There's nothing stopping you from giving barista-boy your number then."

"Uh, yeah there is," picking up her plastic cup she waved it in her face, watching those liquid brown eyes trace the scrawled black marker on the side. "There's the fact that I told him my name was 'Gwen Stacy' because I am clearly _not interested_."

"So?" Allison had her hands clasped beneath her chin as she gazed dreamily into the distance. "It's a cute story - like something out of a movie."

It hadn't even been done in a half-hearted attempt at a meet-cute. When the boy had asked for her name with an eagerness that had caught her off-guard it had been a knee-jerk reaction to respond with a blatant lie. A lie that he had most surely caught, if the knowing smirk curving his lips when he'd messily scrawled the name of Peter Parker's first girlfriend on the side of her cup was any indication.

However Fred wasn't here to meet boys or go on dates or develop crushes. She was here to do a job and the messiness of romance would do nothing except get in her way.

As it had done earlier that day, the Spiderman theme-song sounded loudly from the phone wedged in Fred's back pocket, barista-boy glancing over curiously as he recognised the tune. Eyeing the screen Fred's jaw clenched as Stiles' name stared back at her. It may had been over an hour since her phone-call with Derek, but Fred was still harbouring a lot of hostility towards Scott and Stiles over that particular bright idea of theirs. A bright idea that she would bet money on had originated from the skinny boy who acted before thinking. She allowed the call to ring out, ignoring the curious looks Allison and Lydia were sending her.

And then he called again.

Making a concentrated effort to hold back the flood of irritation on the off-chance Stiles was calling because his life was in danger, Fred made a weak excuse to her companions as she stood from the table. Making a beeline for the bathroom in an attempt to keep the conversation at least somewhat private she was sure to lock the door behind her.

"What?" She demanded, not bothering to hide her frustration with the twitchy boy who needed to get rid of his attitude towards Derek pronto.

After a distinct pause Stiles belligerently replied, " _I guess you've talked to Derek then."_

"You got him thrown in jail and he has no family! Who the fuck did you think he would call?"

The line was silent and Fred was quick to get fed up with waiting and cut him off as he finally decided to contribute to the conversation, "Look, Stilinski, I gotta say you don't sound as though you're in mortal peril - so get to the part where you tell me what you want."

" _It's Scott,"_ As soon as those words met her ear Fred was all business, cutting him off again.

"What about Scott?" A million different scenarios flashed through her head. Every one of them involving Scott McCall being in a different life-or-death situation that all seemed to be straight out of a James Bond film. Shaking away the image of him being tortured for information by Russian mobsters she was quick to ask, "What's happened?"

" _Nice to know Scott gets your attention,"_ Stiles muttered sullenly before his tone grew frantic as he recalled why he'd called to begin with. " _Look, when we were at Derek's - yes, I know, please just let me finish - he had this girl buried beneath some wolfsbane that kept her in wolf-form. Or some shit. Anyway, long story short - I kept the wolfsbane, it made Scott freak out, and I've been driving around for the last fucking hour trying to find him!"_

Leaning back against the sink Fred sighed heavily through her nose and made a concentrated effort to relax her jaw as she caught the sound of her teeth grinding together. It was getting to the point where those two boys couldn't be trusted without supervision. First the whole Jackson thing earlier in the week and now a wolfsbane addled beta gallivanting around town. Babysitting had definitely not been covered in Basic Training, that was for fucking sure.

" _Look, just tell me where you are and I'll pick you up. I already know you're not at home, but this is more important than whatever you're doing."_

Eyes narrowed in suspicion Fred glanced around the empty bathroom as though she expected him to leap out from behind the cistern and slowly asked, "And you know I'm not home how?"

" _Do you usually answer the phone while you're in the bathroom?"_ If it were possible to feel someone rolling their eyes through the phone, Fred would have as Stiles sarcastically continued, " _Either that or you're in a cave."_

"Anyone ever tell you that you're disturbingly observant?"

" _More than you'd think. Can I know where you are now?"_

"Starbucks on Hudson. But don't come get me."

There was a beat before Stiles practically snarled, " _And why the Hell not?"_

"Because," Fred drew the word out in a mocking drawl, "I'm with Allison. And who do you think Scott's gonna come after when he gets the wolfsbane munchies? You, or the girl he's currently crushing on?"

The line went quiet except for the rumble of what she assumed to be the Jeeps engine in the background. While the way she had pointed it out had perhaps been a shade of mean, there was no arguing against her logic. What was the point of both of them driving around Beacon Hills on a fruitless game of hide-and-seek with Scott?

" _I guess."_ There was no mistaking the begrudging way the words left his mouth, as though he were spitting nails.

Ending the call Fred tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Only in Beacon Hills," she muttered.

* * *

 _I found Scott. Allison's dad just hit him with his car - Fred._

Her thumb had barely left the send button before Fred's phone beeped with Stiles' reply.

 _Is heO k? - Stiles._

 _The car didn't kill him. But Allison's dad might if they don't stop reenacting the staircase scene from Titanic - Fred._

 _I'll be there soon - Stiles._

 _Don't bother - I've got it covered. See you at the game - Fred._

As soon as she'd laid eyes on Allison's father Fred had recognized him as the lead hunter from the night of the full moon, and if the looks Scott kept sending him were any indication she wasn't the only one. The tension was thick between the two of them, although on Mr Argent's end it was less because he recognized Scott as the werewolf he had pinned to a tree and more because he was the boy threatening his daughters virtue. The same boy who wouldn't stop gazing at her with lovesick hearts in his eyes.

It was like watching a damn Hugh Grant movie.

"I guess we'll see you there, Mr Argent," Fred slapped on her best 'Parent Smile', wrapped a hand around Scott's arm and began to forcibly lead him over towards where Lydia was sitting in her car taking selfies. "Bye Allison!" Fred called while opening the back-door and unceremoniously shoving Scott so hard he sprawled across the backseat.

Outside the car a bewildered Allison raised her hand in a wave while her father stared at them with narrowed eyes and a tight jaw. It was definitely an 'I'm gonna get my gun' expression, and Fred hoped it was caused more by seeing a teenage boy and not a teenage werewolf.

"Why," Lydia's voice split the air as she stared pointedly at Fred, "is Scott-Freaking-McCall in my car?"

"I'm giving him a ride to the game, and you're giving me a ride home," Fred shrugged, "It made sense."

Turning back to look out of the windscreen with a huff and pout that made it aggressively clear how unhappy she was with the situation, Lydia turned up the music so a bubblegum Top 40 pop-song blasted from the speakers. Loud enough to deter the very notion of conversation. If she were honest, Fred wasn't complaining. The very idea of making idle chit-chat with Lydia for the fifteen minute drive to her apartment was as appealing as battling a Mannorath demon.

And they exploded upon death.

Pulling up to the curb in front of Fred's apartment complex Lydia all but forcibly ejected both teenagers out of the car before taking off in a squeal of tires against asphalt. But not before she had regarded Scott with a gaze that was erring on the side of uncomfortably tense and reminded him not to mess up tonight. Cryptically adding, "Or else you know what will happen."

Turning to face a suddenly pale Scott Fred had considered asking what she had meant before shaking her head, "You know what? I don't even want to know. Come on."

Leading the way into her complex, Scott trailed behind Fred like a lost puppy, eyes roaming over every inch worn weatherboard and weeds growing between the gaps in the pavingstones. Despite this there was still a warmth, light filtering through curtains turning the windows a warm gold, the sounds of laughter filling their air from people cooking dinner. Fred's neighbours were in the middle of a rousing rendition of _Under The Sea,_ the voice of their four year old daughter ringing clear as a bell.

"Kevin!" Fred opened her door, darting forward to scoop up the car keys left on the bench.

"Yes?" His head popped out from around his bedroom door, eyebrows raised as he spotted Scott awkwardly hovering in the doorway.

"I'm just going to drive Scott home," Hooking a finger through the key-ring she absently spun them in increasingly faster circles, "That okay?"

"Yeah, of course," suddenly looking hopeful he added, "does this mean I don't need to come tonight?"

A thoughtful expression crossed Fred's face before she replied saccharine, "No. If I need to suffer, so do you. Plus, Allison's father has magnanimously decided to accompany us and I know you're just _dying_ to add to your friend group."

Groaning at the notion Kevin disappeared back into his room with a shouted, "Remember we have a guest for tea tonight!"

Grinning, Fred interpreted that comment as to mean Kevin had gotten Derek released and all was well. Like there was ever any doubt. For someone who couldn't tell when someone was legitimately flirting with him, Kevin could be very charming when he wanted to be.

Herding Scott out to where Kevin had parked his yellow mini down the side of the building Fred teased, "Never thought I'd be a soccer mom at sixteen and yet here we are."

Fred adored Kevin's car. Just _adored_ it. It had actually been the first thing they'd ever had a conversation about, back _before_. Coming home from school one afternoon it had been sat on the curb outside her new neighbours house and before she'd actually thought her actions through Fred was knocking on his door. What followed was an hour-long tour of the car and mutual appreciation of a manual gearbox.

So yeah, she had a soft spot for the bright yellow 1978 Austin Mini.

Adjusting the seat and mirrors to suit her much smaller stature Fred waited for Scott to get settled before asking, "So am I taking you home or straight to the school?"

Idling at the curb Fred drummed her fingers lightly against the steering wheel, the setting sun cast everything outside in a bright fiery gold but the inside of the car was filled with shadows. As Scott silently stared down at his lap, expression unreadable, Fred was at least able to discern that he'd put his seatbelt on.

Just when the silence was getting awkward Scott met Fred's gaze with one of consternation, "Why are you helping me?" There was a desperate whine to his voice, a plea for understanding, "I mean, why do you keep helping me? You're _always_ there. Whenever something happens you're just... _there_. Why me?"

With a sigh Fred dropped her head so it rested against the steering wheel, gathering her thoughts. It was not the time or place to get into everything. Not when the kid had a lacrosse game to play and Fred had a hunter to try and distract in case he wolfed out.

"Because it's my job," her voice was muffled behind a curtain of blonde waves as she essentially addressed her lap. "It's my fault that you're a werewolf and I'm trying to fix it."

"... _your_ fault?" Scott's voice was thick with confusion. "The way I remember it, you tackled the thing that bit me to get it off me. You tried to save me."

" _Tried_ being the operative fucking word!" Lifting her head she stared at him in disbelief while also looking like she'd been kicked in the stomach. Remembering the time and stupid lacrosse games and middle-aged hunters Fred deflated, "Look, where am I taking you?"

Looking as though he wanted to continue arguing the point Scott instead swallowed back his words. Self-loathing painted the curve of her face before the shadows shifted and she was a blank slate yet again. "My lacrosse gear's at home."

"McCall Residence, coming right up," letting out the clutch, Fred shifted gears and turned left, allowing the familiar motions to continue to calm her. Although with his sensitive hearing Scott was able to pick up the distinct sound of her teeth continuing to grind together, a habit he was coming to learn that she wasn't always aware of doing.

It was happening often enough that the possibility of Fred grinding her teeth down to the gums was becoming a legitimate concern.

After a few moments of silence Scott asked, "Allison isn't giving me a second chance out of pity, is she?"

Laughter tickled the back of her throat and she quickly choked it back, there was a tone to Scott's voice that betrayed a need for validation not humor. "No Scott, why would you even think that?"

Squirming in his seat he muttered, "Because on our first date I bailed like some kind of freak."

"Well, yes, not your finest moment," Fred conceded.

"And then I may have freaked her out at school the other day about Derek," he continued, letting out a loud groan and dragging a hand down his face in frustration, "I am such a freak."

Idly she wondered if 'freak' was the only insult in his vocabulary.

"And?"

Fred was a little baffled. Scott was a legitimately nice guy who obviously cared a lot for Allison. He was sweet, and kind, and while a little oblivious he certainly wasn't stupid. Not to mention he was definitely attractive enough to have his own show on Disney Channel. It was frustrating, this lack of self-confidence he had.

Growing up Fred had never worried about things like not being good enough, she just automatically assumed that she was. Insecurity wasn't a feeling she had been intimately familiar with. It could have come from living a lifestyle where everything just came easily, it could have just been a natural facet of her personality. So while Fred had an acute dislike of bullies and people that preyed on the weak for amusement, she was also eternally frustrated at the people who allowed themselves to be treated that way.

"Because I'm a freak now!" The words burst forth, fists clenched in his lap, as Scott refused to look at her. "But if it wasn't for the Bite, she wouldn't have even noticed me anyway. I wasn't popular, I wasn't good at lacrosse, I wasn't anything."

"First," Fred informed him sternly, "Stop using the word ' _freak_ '. You've used your quota for the next four months in five minutes. Second, you're not _nothing_. Jesus, who cares that you weren't popular or that lacrosse made you a bit wheezy? None of that matters to Allison. She likes you because you were the cute boy who gave her a pen and noticed her on her first day of school."

"Really?" As Scott peered hopefully at her from beneath his messy bangs Fred felt her face soften.

"Well, it's certainly not because you can bench press a horse and her family wants to kill you," she deadpanned. "Look, it's just fear. You can't let it control you. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to anger - no, wait, hold on," Fred paused thoughtfully before continuing, "Fear leads to hate. Hate leads to the Dark Side. No, that's not it either. You know, right now, I'm pretty fucking happy that you've never seen Star Wars, because then you'd realise just how much I've butchered that quote."

Scott blinked once. Then twice. A loud laugh exploded out of his mouth, hands clutching at his stomach, as he blinked away tears. Allowing herself a crooked smile Fred rolled her eyes goodnaturedly and allowed the boy to laugh out his nerves.

"Thanks for the pep-talk," Scott grinned over at her, sincerity shining in his eyes. "I think."

"Not one of my best," Fred made a face, "But thanks."

"I liked your pep-talk," he admitted before scowling, "It was better than Derek's, anyway. He just tried to threaten me out of playing tonight."

"Oh?" Fred asked archly, raising one eyebrow and conveying just how unhappy she was with him despite his nice guy status. "That why you got him arrested?"

At least he had the grace to look a little ashamed of himself as he muttered, "Stiles thought it was a good idea."

"You can't just go around trying to get everyone who tells you something you don't want to hear arrested," Fred exclaimed. "And for what it's worth, Derek ain't wrong. You shouldn't be playing until you've learned how to stop yourself from chowing down on little lacrosse Happy Meals."

"So why aren't you chaining me up? Stopping me from playing?"

"Because, unlike Derek, I know that if someone tells me not to do something it makes me want to do it even more," Fred retorted, "And I'm fairly sure that's a teenage-thing and not just a me-thing."

Sighing yet again and wondering if she should try and find a _Teenage Werewolves For Dummies_ book online she added, "Look, Scott, a hunter's going to be watching you play tonight. A hunter who has already demonstrated a lack of appreciation for lycanthrope life. I just don't want you to fuck up and get an arrow in the throat for it."

"I won't!" He protested fervently, "I _need_ to play tonight!"

"I hope it's worth it."

* * *

It turned out that for all of her joking apparently missing a lacrosse game _was_ unheard of in Beacon Hills. The stands were completely packed out by the time Fred and Kevin arrived, and they were still ten minutes early. Fred had a sudden urge to grab random passersby and confirm that they did in fact realise they were watching lacrosse and not football.

A faint fog hung across the damp grass of the pitch, twining it's way around ankles and climbing the slick steel stands. Floodlights illuminated what must have been a solid chunk of the towns population, everyone bundled up in gloves and scarves to ward off the bite to the night air. Winter hadn't yet released it's grip on Northern California apparently. Compared to Scotland Fred almost found it positively balmy.

The pair ran into Lydia as she was walking off the pitch and back towards the stands, a sound of disappointment escaping her before she led them up to where Allison was sitting with her father.

"Dad," Allison said after the group suffered through a full minute of awkward silence, "This is Fred's uncle - Mr Jones. He's our school librarian."

"Call me Chris," Mr Argent said with an easy smile on his face that when paired with the scattering of stubble made him a lot more attractive than the scowl Fred had previously seen him sporting. Although his pale blue eyes were just that little bit too sharp to be considered anything other than icy, it was easy to imagine him as a young man with his pick of the girls.

"Likewise," Kevin grinned, "Mr Jones was my father."

"Fair enough," Mr Argent accepted with a nod. "And you're the librarian here? Allison mentioned that you'd both only recently moved here?"

"That'd be right," Kevin confirmed, "After our stay in Scotland we decided California was it for us, and Beacon Hills was a good as any place. So far it's turned out to be a bloody delight." White teeth flashed in a grin that was a little too sharp before softening, "But what about your family? You're newcomers also?"

"That's right. Because of my job we have to travel around a lot, but Allison handles it like a champ - don't you sweetheart?" He wrapped an arm around Allison and pulled her close to his side. "My company supplies weaponry and ammunition for law enforcement agencies, and unfortunately once a contract runs out we've got to go where the next one is. I'm hoping Beacon Hills might be our last stop for a while though."

Raising an eyebrow Kevin eyed him, "War dog, eh? Can't imagine there's much action in a place like this."

"You'd be surprised."

With a sharp squeal from Lydia all further conversation was dissuaded as she ordered everyone to pay attention as the game began. Sharing a look with Kevin, expressing how painful they would both find the experience, Fred snuggled down into her leather jacket and pulled her red woolen scarf up over her nose. Even though Californian winter had nothing on Scottish winter, there was just something cozy about scarves and jackets. Considering her body temperature ran hot as a result of her Slayer healing abilities a lot of Fred's winter clothing was purely for the aesthetic.

"I'll admit I'm not entirely clear on the rules," Kevin leaned close to Fred, "But am I correct in saying that those boys are purposely not passing to Scott?"

With narrowed eyes Fred watched as Jackson blatantly shoulder-checked Scott in order to steal the ball off of his own team-mate. Despite going on to score a goal, she refused to cheer for him on principal. Matching Lydia's disapproving gaze with one of her own - what Jackson was doing was a dick move, even for him.

"You would be correct," Fred replied through gritted teeth.

"Sign time!" Lydia sang gleefully as she tugged Allison to her feet, Fred waving off the attempt, the ' _We Luv U Jackson'_ sign thrust proudly into the air.

"So, which one is Scott?" Mr Argent asked Allison once she had dropped back into her seat, the sign joining the pile at Lydia's feet.

"He's the only one that hasn't caught a single ball so far," Lydia interrupted with a vicious smirk. Fred had to fight the urge to snatch Jackson's sign up and set it on fire.

"That's because Jackson isn't letting anyone pass to him," Fred's voice was raised as she glared down at the pitch. "It's not Scott's fault his team captain is being a resentful little fuck."

Ignoring the shocked looks at her language - Kevin simply nodding in agreement with a look of tired acceptance - Fred grabbed Scott's sign and thrust it into Allison's hands. Narrowly avoiding punching Lydia in the face. "I think Scott could use the encouragement more than Jackson right now, don't you?"

With a grin that lit up her entire face, brown eyes full of mischief, Allison held the sign as high as she could manage. Clambering onto her seat Fred smirked down at a pouting Lydia as she bellowed across the stands, "Kick their ass McCall!"

"Go Scott!" A blush darkened Allison's cheek as she glanced down at her dad self-consciously, a nervous giggle escaping her pink lips.

"Don't worry Lydia," Fred smiled sardonically at the redhead who looked five seconds away from throwing a fit, "No one expects you to do anything but suffer in silence."

All their cheering had drawn attention both on and off the field, with Stiles gaping up at the girls from his place on the bench while Scott's head swung in their direction. Hopefully the sign and encouragement would be enough motivation for Scott to keep his anger in check on the field. There was no doubt that the boy was angry. If it were Fred she knew that she'd be downright furious as Jackson's childish games.

Everyone watched, stunned, as Scott once again employed acrobatics in his lacrosse offensive and actually jumped off of another players shoulders in order to catch the ball before anyone could stop him. Effortlessly dodging every player attempting an intercept Scott weaved his way across the field to finally score his first goal of the game.

The stands erupted into sound. People were standing, hands waving wildly through the air, feet stamping down against the cold steel. Caught up in the energy Fred even let out an honest to God whoop of pure happiness, sharing a proud grin with Allison around a stubbornly silent Lydia.

Kevin regarded his ward softly, Mr Argent's keen eyes taking in the affection shining clear in his eyes. Broad shoulders were squared as he took a deep breath before slinging an arm around Fred, only relaxing once she glanced up at him with clear blue eyes.

It was yet another glimpse of the girl who had once cheered on football teams in a more official part. Pleated skirts and hair-ribbons and warm smiles.

Below Coach Finstock shouted at the players on the field, gesticulating wildly, putting an end to Jackson's powerplay and forcing the team to stop acting as though Scott didn't exist. It came to no one's surprise that once they did that the points started to rack up in their favour. No longer having to run interference on both the other team and one of their best players.

"He's getting too aggressive," Kevin muttered as they witnessed a player from the opposing team pass Scott the ball in what could only be an act of fear.

"I need to use the bathroom," Fred declared as she shot to her feet, "Back soon."

Rushing down the stands Fred instead made a beeline to the side of the pitch, throwing a leg over the bench and straddling it next to where Scott was nervously gnawing on one of his gloves. He jumped once he realised just how close Fred was, almost falling backwards in his shock, not appreciated the suppressed snort or raised eyebrows he received.

"Scott's not handling it," Fred stated as her eyes tracked the boy in question, tracing over the barely restrained violence in his movements.

"No-no he is not," Stiles confirmed with a jerky nod, his leg bouncing nervously and Fred had to bite down the urge to place a hand on his knee and force him to stop.

Both teenagers winced as Scott slammed another player into the ground hard, clouds of steam billowing from beneath his helmet as he let out a growl that Fred could very faintly hear.

"Is there anything you can do?" Stiles leaned forward and lowered his voice, at least attempting to prove to her that he could control his speaking volume thank you very much, "You know, if he goes full-Cujo and tries to eat someone?"

"Nothing short of running out there and dragging him off."

"Hey!" Coach Finstock's voice boomed loudly and both of them looked up in surprise to find him looming over the bench. "You can't be here - players only!"

"What?" Fred blinked with practiced confusion, "This isn't the bathroom?"

"Does it look like a damn bathroom?" Coach retorted before shaking his head, his faith in her generation clearly hanging on by only the thinnest of threads, "You know what, don't answer that, just leave!"

"Cool your jets, Coach Fredricks - I'm gone," raising her hands in surrender Fred stood up, amused by the way both Coach and Stiles were following her movements. One with a look of begrudging admiration for her ballsy quip, the other choking down laughter at seeing Coach Finstock blatantly compared to the character from _Freaks and Geeks_.

Backing away until she was partially hidden in the shadows beside the stands Fred jumped at least a foot in the air when a hand landed heavily on her shoulder. Spinning around, hands already clenched into tight fists, Fred stopped dead at the sight of Derek smirking at her with his eyebrows raised. Lowering her hands she scowled in response.

"You squeaked," He teased.

"How was prison," Fred crossed her arms petulantly, 'Get any cool tattoos?"

"Cute," he deadpanned, "Thanks - for sending Kevin."

Shrugging Fred turned back to the game, keeping an eye on Scott, "Don't mention it. Scott's not doing that great," Fred worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, brows drawn together in thought.

"No," Derek confirmed as he propped one shoulder up against one of the metal bracers holding up the stands, "He's already partially shifted. If it weren't for the gloves and helmet most of Beacon Hills would see what he is."

Both of them stood there in solidarity and watched as Scott stood half hunched over in front of the goal. Puffs of steam coloured the air in front of him as his shoulders and chest heaved from the force of his breaths. Derek and Fred shared a look before casting their attention back to the beta hanging on by a thread, both ready to rush out and drag him into the woods if necessary.

As Scott finally took the shot and scored the winning point, two exhalations of relief could be heard beneath the roaring of the crowd.

Sagging in relief, Fred allowed herself a soft grin up at Derek, liking the way his lips curved upwards in response. That was until they watched a determined Allison rush past in hot pursuit of Scott, who had fled to the locker-rooms as soon as the game had ended.

Taking off after her Fred called back to Derek, "See you at dinner!"

Arriving at the locker-rooms Fred found herself a moment too late as Stiles slipped inside. After deliberating she decided to just wait outside the door on the off-chance Scott managed to stay in control. Although every instinct was screaming at her to go in there, to protect the two humans trapped in a confined space with a predator who had proven tonight he had a weak grip on control, she stayed put. Allison would simply chalk up Stiles following them into the locker-room as the kid being weird and not all that aware of what boundaries were. However, Fred was concerned that her presence would definitely cause suspicion.

Despite firmly telling herself she was better alone, Fred couldn't bring herself to do anything to damage the tentative friendship she had begun to build with Allison. So instead she leant as casually as possible against the side of the hall, eyes fixated on the locker-room door with an intensity that only came from a predator.

It wasn't long until a blushing Allison slipped out, pushing her hair back from her face, and smiling sheepishly once she noticed Fred. Pushing off from against the wall the blonde knocked her shoulder against the other girls, steering her away from the locker-room and back outside.

"So?"

"We kissed!" Allison confided with an excited giggle.

"Tongue?"

"Yeah."

"Nice."

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you to my wonderful beta the missjanuarylily and huntsthemoon for constant validation!**

 **And thank you to my wonderful reviewers: tinycurmudgeon, corahaale, and kissageckos!**

 **\- susiesamurai xoxo**


	8. Slayer, Comma, The

**Chapter Eight**

 _ **Slayer, Comma, The**_

Disclaimer: I do not own BTVS or Teen Wolf, nor do I earn any form of income from this work of fiction.

* * *

 _KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

Fred promptly sat bolt upright in bed, her flailing arms managing to knock the glass of water on her bedside table onto the floor.

 _KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

Untangling herself from her bedding Fred stumbled across her bedroom floor and walked down the hallway, yawning and grumbling about being woken up so rudely. With her eyes barely open she managed to avoid the sofa and barstools while navigating their small apartment, assuming that Kevin was out since whoever was at her door was _still fucking knocking_.

Mouth opened mid-yawn Fred ran a hand through her tangled hair as she pulled the door open. Blinking blearily she took in the sight of Scott McCall on her doorstep with his hand still raised mid-knock while Stiles stood next to him with eyebrows raised and an amused smile twitching at his lips. Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

"You're at my apartment." Fred stated blankly.

"Yes." - "Yup." They replied simultaneously.

"You're at my apartment and I'm wearing my yummy sushi pajamas." Fred was hit by a sudden wave of self-consciousness as their eyes dropped to the sushi-patterned pajamas she was wearing. Even though they were long pants and covered everything, the sushi had cartoon faces for God's sake.

"Yes, yes you are," Stiles replied with a shit-eating grin.

Fred closed the door on both of their faces.

Barely thirty seconds had passed before they were knocking again and Fred lightly hit her head against the doorframe with a low groan rumbling through her chest. Why were they at her apartment? What did they want? How did they knew where she lived? Why did she answer the door in her fucking pajamas?

"Fred!" Scott called through the door. "Please talk to us! Stiles promises not to say anything about your pajamas!"

"Hey!" Stiles protested indignantly, "I do no such thing!"

" _Stiles!_ " Scott hissed at his best friend through clenched teeth.

"Fine!" Stiles yielded through barely restrained laughter, "I promise not to say anything about your jammies!"

Ceasing banging her head against the doorframe Fred rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyelids, breathing deeply as she straightened and stretched her back out. It was fairly obvious why they were here now that she was no longer stumbling through the warm pastel haze between sleep and wakefulness. No time like the present to get the 'Slayer Talk' out of the way she supposed.

Yanking the door open she glowered at the two boys and muttered, "Hurry up before I change my mind."

Herding them inside she stuck her head back out when she heard Mrs Alvarez call out three doors down, "Is everything alright, _mija_? Those boys were very noisy!"

Since Kevin and Fred had moved in the older Cuban widow had taken a shine to them both. Often inviting the two over for dinner - a blessing seeing as Kevin wasn't the most culinary inclined and Fred's repertoire was decidedly confectionery-based. She would regale them both with stories about her youth in Cuba and would attempt to improve Fred's limited Spanish vocabulary by watching telenovelas.

A smile bloomed unbidden across her face as Fred sweetly replied, "I'm so sorry if they woke you up! Just a little eager to start our school project is all!"

"Ah, I remember when boys would knock my door down!" Mrs Alvarez laughed heartily, "Have fun _mija_ , tell your uncle I said hello!"

"I will Mrs Alvarez!"

Closing the door Fred turned to where the two boys in question were awkwardly standing in the middle of her modest apartment. "Wait for me here. And don't touch anything," at the look on Stiles' face she felt the need to add, "Seriously, you might accidentally summon a demon from the realm of musicals or something and become his child-bride. I'll be back in a second."

Forgoing a shower for speed Fred was quick to throw on a hoodie and jeans before brushing her teeth. Knotting her hair on top of her head in a messy bun she pulled open her door in time to hear hushed voices in the living-room.

"Stiles!" Scott hissed, "She said not to touch anything!"

"Pfft!" Stiles scoffed. "She was just joking about that demon thing, Scotty. Don't be so gullible."

"Actually I wasn't," Fred informed him as she rounded the corner and opened the fridge, pulling out the milk. Rummaging in the pantry for the cereal box she turned to watch Stiles literally jump away from the book he'd been inspecting and shove his hands casually into his pockets. "It happened to some friends of mine," Fred continued conversationally as she dropped down onto the large striped armchair next to the sofa Scott was sat on, bowl of cereal in hand, "They were forced to sing and dance until they spontaneously combusted. Apparently it was pretty cool except for the whole possibility of burning to death while tap-dancing and being some demon jazz-singers child queen."

"Well, thanks for that truly disturbing image that I'm sure will more than definitely manifest itself in the form of a nightmare," Stiles deadpanned as he dropped down onto the sofa next to Scott and started drumming his fingers against his legs.

"Look," Scott's big brown eyes locked with Fred's beseechingly. "Can you please just tell us what's going on? Why you're always around? How you know about werewolves and apparently tap-dancing demons? Because I have no freaking clue what's going on anymore!"

Never mind torture tactics, all the government needed was Scott McCall's puppy-dog eyes and everyone would be tripping over themselves to confess regardless of whether they were guilty or not. Idly Fred wondered if this was what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of her wide-eyed stares.

"Let's start easy," Stiles suggested, "what the hell are you? Because normal teenage girls can't outrun a car or tackle a giant wolf-man-thing. And you've already said you're not a werewolf - so _what are you then_?"

"A normal teenage boy couldn't outrun a car either, just FYI," Fred snidely replied before shoving a spoonful of lucky-charms in her mouth and aggressively chewing, enjoying the way Stiles' eyes narrowed in response. Swallowing she continued, "And I am _human_ , for the record. I'm...well, I'm a Vampire Slayer."

Absolute silence flooded the room broken up only by the sounds of Fred's obnoxiously loud chewing while both boys stared at her in dumbfounded shock. Honestly Fred hadn't believed it was possible. But here she sat witnessing a miracle as a full minute passed and Stiles Stilinski had yet to say a word.

After opening and closing his mouth several times and waving his hands around Stiles managed to finally choke out, "I'm sorry… you're-uh-you're a _what now_?"

"I'm a Slayer," Fred repeated as though that would clarify anything, being answered only by blank stares which she should have expected. " _Slay_ -er. One of the Chosen. Slayer, comma, The - Google it. Actually, don't Google it. I don't want to know what Andrew's spread all over the internet about us. That documentary was bad enough the first time without adding a Wikipedia page to it."

Just remembering that documentary was enough to give her second-hand embarrassment for everyone involved including herself. ' _Buffy, the Slayer of the Vampyr'_ \- it was Twilight level bad and not in the good way.

"So," Stiles said slowly with his brow crinkled in thought, "you're _Fred the Vampire Slayer_?"

"Ugh," she groaned, "don't say it like _that_ \- I sound like some kind of action-hero from the nineties."

Throughout all this Scott was looking at his lap and repeatedly mouthing something to himself in increasing degrees of horror until he finally looked up and exclaimed, " _Vampires_?"

"You're a werewolf but the existence of vampires is a bit of a stretch?" tapping her spoon idly against her bottom lip Fred cocked a questioning eyebrow.

"To be completely fair," Stiles pointed out as he started to get over his own disbelief at the existence of vampires and slayers of such, curiosity winning out over joining Scott in his low-key mental breakdown. "I'm pretty sure he's still in denial over the whole werewolf thing."

"Thats, uh, understandable I guess?" Fred replied in an effort to be tactful about Scott's apparent sensitivity towards anything potentially supernatural. She was almost scared of what his reaction would be when he learned about witches and multiple deities. Willow would blow his mind.

"It's just…" Scott was wild-eyed and his voice was strained, "vampires? Like, actual real-life vampires?"

"Uh-huh," Fred said around a mouthful of cereal, "though if it makes you feel any better, there aren't any in Beacon Hills. I've actually been able to get a solid seven hours sleep a night around patrols. At first, it was a little disorientating because it's, like, twice as much as I would usually get but I've gotta admit I'm kinda starting to enjoy it."

"That," Scott admitted as he finally began to process everything he had learned and calm down, "that's actually surprisingly comforting."

"I'm glad my sleeping schedule has that effect on you, Scott."

"I meant the vampires," Scott explained while Fred gazed at him with eyebrows raised. After an amused noise from Stiles, realisation dawned on his face and he muttered, "Oh, you were joking."

"Right, so, you're a Slayer - a _vampire_ slayer," Stiles nodded knowingly then blurted out, "and what the Hell does that mean?"

"I'm a Slayer, a Slayer hunts vampires, don't tell anyone," a smirk spread across her face as she watched Stiles' frustration rapidly approach boiling point. Content in allowing her explanation to remain the simple sentence Fred was quick to relent when she saw Scott's face. Winding Stiles up wasn't worth the distress she saw painted in every line of his face. God was she getting soft.

"Look," Fred waved her spoon around like an orchestral conductor, "think of Slayers like… Captain America. Only instead of being created to fight Nazi's, it was to save a bunch of scared old men who couldn't hold back the hordes of Hell themselves." Tapping the spoon against her bottom lip Fred let out a thoughtful hum, "Huh? Actually that's not too different from the plot of Captain America now I think about it."

"So you're still human?" Scott's face was scrunched up as he tried to sift through the comic-book references he only half understood. He would have been completely lost if Stiles hadn't dragged him to the Captain America movie over the summer as it was.

"Yup," shoving another spoonful of cereal in her mouth Fred mumbled, "feel free to call me 'Cap' if the urge arises."

"Why you? How many Slayers are there? How do you become a Slayer? Is it like becoming a werewolf? What powers do you have exactly?" Each question exited Stiles' lips much like a bullet as he eagerly leaned forward and waved his hands while Scott nodded along with him. There was some slight slurring as he went from question to question, his brown eyes lit with a manic thirst for knowledge that she'd only ever seen in Kevin before now.

Why on earth did Fred think this would be easy? Why? This was the very same kid who worked out his best friend was a werewolf and checked out at least ten books to confirm it - including the Twilight Saga. Although, in retrospect, maybe he was just super intrigued by Bella and Edwards whirlwind romance? Who was she to judge. What it did tell her, however, was that he wouldn't be easily satisfied with vague half-assed explanations.

Where was Kevin and his portable lecture hall when you needed him.

"Why me? I ask myself that very question every day my guy," Fred began answering his questions in sequence of having been asked as succinctly as possible. "Nobody really knows, just some magical whooziwotsit from the Powers That Be we guess. Last I counted there were three thousand and two active Slayers, there could be more but with the Watchers Council being a pile of historic rubble somewhere in England it's a little hard to confirm. And no, becoming a Slayer is _not_ like becoming a werewolf. Being a Slayer is a... _divine calling_. Being a werewolf is the result of an infection - sorry Scott," Fred's sympathetic smile in Scott's direction was returned with a pained grimace, "as for what powers I have - guess you'll just need to wait and see huh? I don't really have a stats sheet available for your perusal."

It was safer for them not to know the full extent of what she was capable of just yet. It wasn't that she didn't trust either of them, but more that it was probably safer for everyone else if she remained a wild-card. And it definitely worked in her favor if they managed to dream up a whole plethora of superpowers that she _could_ have - nothing like having the power of imagination on your side.

It would give any threats Fred had to deliver a lot more oomph if they didn't know if they were fact or fiction.

"So it's an infection?" Scott had grabbed onto what she had said about lycanthropy and was holding tight with both hands like a drowning man, "Doesn't that mean there's a cure?"

Gazing sadly at Scott she could feel her heart ache a little, desperation emanating from every inch of him as he leaned forward. Hands tightly clasped between his knees, the knuckles turning white. Those brown eyes wide and unblinking and filled with the faintest flicker of hope that Fred had an answer.

A cure.

Fred didn't want to be the one to snuff that light out - Scott McCall was already the cause of far too much guilt coiling in her gut like some poisonous beast itching to get out.

"As," Fred dropped her gaze and moved her spoon around her empty cereal bowl, unable to handle watching Scott's face, "as far as we know, there is no cure. There's only learning to control it."

Silence once again filled the small apartment. Unlike the air of astounded disbelief from earlier, however, this one was filled with bitter resignation.

An idea formed and Fred's head snapped up, addressing Scott, "That being said - you guys are different to the werewolves we're used to. So maybe your infection is different. Have you talked to Derek about this?"

"Uh," Stiles ran a hand over his head and fidgeted uncomfortably, "I don't think your-uh-boyfriend's really gonna want to talk to us anytime soon. Or-like-ever. Again."

"For fucks sake! Derek is _not_ my boyfriend," Fred burst out, "why does everyone keep thinking that?"

"Probably because you guys are always together?" Stiles retorted as he gestured towards her accusingly.

"Yeah, _hunting the Alpha_ ," Fred shot back, "not macking in the backseat of his car while Meatloaf sings about hitting home runs."

"Again," Stiles screwed his face up in disgust, "thank you for that oddly specific mental image."

"You're welcome," Fred snidely drawled in return, "put it in your spank-bank for those cold lonely nights."

Face flushing, and mouth opening wide to no doubt expel some cutting retort, Stiles was cut off by Scott.

"You really think we can trust Derek?"

Shaking off the residual annoyance that Stiles and his smart mouth seemed to cause on the regular, Fred looked at Scott and shrugged, "I've given him at least three separate opportunities to try and hurt me - and nothing. Not even that day in the woods when you guys ran into us - it was the first time he'd met me and had rightly determined me a threat. But instead of straight up ripping my throat out we had a somewhat friendly conversation. Which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for some other people in this town," these words were delivered with a pointed look, leaving no doubt that she was referencing Mr Argent that night in the woods when he shot a teenage boy unprovoked. "Look, Derek's people skills are...rusty. But he's trying to do the right thing."

"People skills are-are _rusty!_ " Stiles spluttered. "The guy's certifiable!"

"He doesn't need to help you," Fred said bluntly, "he has absolutely no obligation to you. Either of you," gesturing between the two of them with her spoon while they both appeared taken aback by the stern tone of her voice - slipping into Intense Slayer Mode without realising. "Derek wasn't the werewolf who bit you, Scott - that was the Alpha. And Derek didn't kill his sister, Stiles - that was the fucking Alpha. Maybe the two of you should start concentrating on what the actual threat is, instead of running around accusing people who don't deserve it. And then getting them incarcerated. I mean, you don't like Mr Harris - is he next? What about Jackson? Like have you actually thought about how fucking stupid you're being?"

By the end of her speech both boys were looking somewhat chastised. Scott more so than Stiles, but that was to be expected. For whatever reason that boy had a bone to pick with Derek and didn't show any sign of extending an olive branch any time soon.

* * *

Fred certainly didn't expect to walk into a crime scene when she left for school that morning.

Weaving her way to the front of the group of kids huddled around the police-tape, trying to get a good photo of the carnage on their phones to no doubt upload to Instagram later, Fred came to a sudden stop. Blue eyes wide as they traced over the back of the bright yellow school bus, the door twisted and ripped almost off its hinges. Bright red blood was smeared all around the opening like some macabre art-installation. A light wind had picked up and her nostrils could still catch the metallic tang of blood, meaning that the blood on the outside was _nothing_ compared to what was hidden inside.

A closer look was necessary, but first Fred had a young volatile werewolf to track down.

Bursting through the front doors, it didn't take her long to locate Scott and Stiles. Both boys practically joined at the hip. Somewhere deep down jealousy reared its little green head and Fred was quick to shove it aside. Close friendships like that only caused complications, she told herself firmly and promptly ignored that yearning for companionship as always.

"...I was sweating like crazy and I couldn't breathe. I've never had a dream where I've woken up like that before," Scott was fervently speaking to Stiles as they approached his locker.

"Really?" Stiles was genuinely surprised. "I have. Usually ends a little differently."

"A - I meant I'd never had a dream that felt that real before. And, B - never give me that much detail about you in bed again."

"Agreed!" Fred chimed in as she squeezed between the two boys, hooking an arm between both of theirs. "By the way, Stiles, you can expect my therapy bill in the mail for making me listen to that with my own two ears."

"Noted," Stiles deadpanned while staring pointedly at their linked arms before glancing across at Scott who simply shrugged.

Deciding that it was the time to play it cool, instead of freaking Scott out in a hallway of teenagers with questions about night time school bus massacres, Fred refrained from bringing it up yet. Instead, she used their linked arms as an opportunity to attempt to steer the two boys somewhere that if Scott did freak out it would be easier to contain him. Like maybe the locker-room?

Letting out a huff of air, Stiles started, "Let me take a guess here -"

Cutting him off Scott said with an air of resignation, "I-I know. You think it had something to do with me going out with Allison tomorrow. Like I'm gonna lose control and rip her throat out."

Fred gulped at that vivid example as her mind flashed back to the school bus of nightmares.

"No! Of course not!" Stiles protested while both Fred and Scott eyed him suspiciously until he broke and admitted, "Yeah, that's totally it."

Hearing Scott sigh, face forlorn as he watched the floor, Fred squeezed his arm lightly in sympathy.

"Hey, come on, it's gonna be fine - alright?" Stiles continued in an attempt to cheer his best friend up that Fred would admire if he wasn't the cause of said friends despondency. "Personally, I think you're handling this pretty frickin' amazingly. You know? It's not like there's a...Lycanthropy For Beginners class you can take."

"Yeah, not a class," Scott spoke slowly, "but maybe a teacher."

"Who? Derek?!" Stiles unhooked his arm from Fred's and reached over her to hit Scott upside the back of his head with a resounding smack. Giving him a warning glance Fred twisted his arm more firmly in hers to avoid any further dramatic abuse while Scott rubbed his head and gazed at Stiles woundedly. "Did you forget the part where we got him tossed in jail? Yes," He huffily said to Fred, "it was stupid and rash and you think we're idiots."

A pleased smile spread across her face, glad at least some of her speech from the day before had managed to penetrate that thick skull.

"I know!" Scott was exasperated, "But chasing her and dragging her to the back of the buss felt so real."

"Bus?" Fred questioned at the same time Stiles asked, "How real?"

"Like it actually happened," Scott answered as they opened a pair of double-doors and they all stepped outside into the autumn sunshine.

Right into the crime scene.

Fred may had gotten distracted by the conversation and not exactly paid attention to where they had been heading. It was also only her third week at this school and how was she supposed to know where every door led to? Who was she - a fucking cartographer? So this wasn't exactly all her fault, and that was the story she would stick to.

Both boys stared in horror at the blood cover bus. They were closer than Fred was able to get earlier and she could now see deep grooves teared into the metal inside of the door - definitely werewolf related then.

"I think I did it." Stiles uttered in pure shock, looking as though he'd been smacked in the face.

Taking in Scott's pale and nauseated face, Fred couldn't help the niggling suspicion that perhaps it _was_ related to this particular werewolf. His wasn't the look of someone who had seen something terrible - it was of someone who had just confirmed that they had _done_ something terrible. What she did know was that Scott needed to divulge a lot more information about this dream - stat.

As Scott rushed back inside the school, Fred and Stiles hot on his heels, he pulled out his phone and started rapidly texting someone.

"She's probably fine," Stiles attempted reassuring but came off more like someone desperately wishing for something to be true.

"She's not answering my texts, Stiles!"

Allison. Scott's dream was about Allison.

"It could just be a coincidence, alright?" Stiles continued trying to calm Scott down as he continued his search for Allison through the halls of Beacon Hills High. Fred trailing behind them as she came to the revelation that Scott had dreamt about _killing_ Allison. "A seriously amazing coincidence."

Snapping out of her reverie Fred focused on Scott's fist leaving a crumpled in locker, springing into action and wrapping a hand around his wrist before he could punch it again. The sea of students parted around them, more than a few glancing curiously at Scott as soft growls slipped from between his lips. Exasperation filled the young Slayer and once again she found herself thinking that compared to Scott's outbursts she seemed the epitome of a well-balanced teenager.

"Jesus fuck!" Fred tugged on Scotts wrist hard, forcing his attention to turn down onto her face, growls ceasing as he took in her narrowed eyes and clenched jaw. "Cool your jets Teen Wolf - Allison's fine."

"How do you know?"

"Because I talked to her on the phone this morning - and unless they have fucking good calling plans in the afterlife I'd say that plants her firmly in the world of the living." Releasing Scott's wrist Fred leaned back against the busted locker, a small smirk twisting her lips as she recognised it as Jacksons.

"Hey guys! Who has a good calling plan?"

Smiling widely as she bounced up behind Scott, Allison was quick to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear self-consciously when all three teenagers stared at her silently. Raising her eyebrows teasingly at them Allison managed to prompt a wide grin from Scott, instantly leading the two teenagers to forget all about Stiles and Fred standing next to them. Lost in a world of high school romance and stomachs filled with butterflies.

"Why'd it take you so long to tell him that Allison was fine?" Stiles demanded while Scott and Allison continued to flirt and ignore the existence of practically everyone else on the planet.

"I'm not sure if you noticed Boy Wonder, but I was kind of doing some processing of my own," Fred bit back, enjoying the irritation that crossed his face with that particular nickname and filing it away for future reference. "I didn't expect Scott to go all primal and assault school property."

Eying up the dented metal Stiles took a noticeable step away from it, as though suddenly realising the consequences of being associated with school property damage.

"Do you even know who's locker this is?"

"Should I?" The question left Stiles' lips slowly, as though he suspected it to be a trick question.

Bursting into laughter Fred was almost tempted not to tell him, the fact that he seemed to be utterly clueless made the entire situation even funnier. As did the ever deepening scowl with every second that Fred laughed instead of answering him.

" _Attention students - this is your principal. I know you're all wondering about the incident that occurred last night involving one of our buses. While the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as scheduled. Thank you."_

"Welcome to Beacon Hills," Fred intoned dramatically, "where Snow Days don't exist and not even school bus massacres can get a school to close."

Spluttering alerted her to a rapidly reddening Stiles who had apparently tried to suppress his amusement at her words and managed to choke himself instead. It was somewhat impressive to be honest, just like Fred's ability to watch it all with a straight face.

"Fred!" Allison barrelled into Fred, shoulder-checking a still gasping Stiles into the locker in the process, and linked arms with the smaller girl. Grinning widely she was quick to lead Fred away down the hall, leaving the boys staring dumbstruck at their backs. "Come on, I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Just as they turned the corner a thoroughly confused Jackson approached his dented locker, the look of comic shock on Stiles' face as the two boys made themselves scarce succeeding in sending Fred into another fit of laughter as she glanced over her shoulder.

Allison looked up as Fred dropped into her seat at their bench in chemistry, intrigued by the wide grin on the blondes face as she dropped her bag to the floor.

"What's got you looking so pleased?" Nudging her shoulder Allison's brown eyes near on sparkled with interest.

"If you must know," Fred leaned one elbow on the bench top and swivelled to face her friend, "Jackson's locker was miraculously dented up this morning and he's been having to carry his books around everywhere until maintenance gets round to fixing it."

"And you're happy with this because you're still annoyed about the lacrosse game?" Allison guessed with a giggle.

"It couldn't have happened to a more deserving person," Fred confirmed with a flippant toss of her head, "And he still maintains that lacrosse isn't a joke."

"You didn't enjoy the game?" Allison asked, "I didn't think it was too bad."

"It's no football," Fred stated before letting out a wistful sigh, "I miss the aggression, the brute force, the tight pants…" Trailing off she let out a dramatic moan that had Allison dissolving into giggles and Mr Harris shooting them warning looks from the front of the class.

Sharing a glance filled with bulging cheeks and suppressed laughter both girls were quick to cast their attention to the worksheets in front of them, not wanting to risk the ire of Beacon Hills' most hated teacher. It wasn't until she was halfway down the page that Fred gave up any pretense of taking in the information in front of her thanks to Stiles and Scott's abysmal attempt at whispering to each other behind them.

"Maybe it was my blood on the door?" Scott asked Stiles with desperate hope dripping from his tongue.

"Could've been animal blood?" Stiles suggested in an attempt to ease his friends mind, hoping to avoid another meltdown. "You know - maybe you caught a rabbit or something?"

"And did what?" Scott blinked blankly at his best friend confusion.

"...ate it…"

"Raw?!" Scott was aghast, his voice loud enough that Allison finally glanced over her shoulder with a frown. Gesturing that he was fine Allison turned back to her worksheet and Scott cast his attention back to Stiles who was in the process of rolling his eyes.

"No," Stiles deadpanned, "you stopped to bake it in a little werewolf oven."

As she was suddenly barraged with the mental image of a fully-shifted Scott sitting next to an easy-bake oven waiting for his rabbit to be done Fred snorted with laughter. Half of the class turned to look at her as she intently studied the page in front of her and pretended to ignore them. Despite herself she could feel heat rising to her cheeks and the tips of her ears at the attention.

"Miss Ackerman," Mr Harris intoned from the front of the class causing Fred to look up, "is there something funny you'd like to share with the class?"

"Not particularly," Fred answered saccharine, tacking on a "sir" at the end that sounded more like a 'fuck you'. Somehow she managed to keep the smirk off her face as she heard Stiles quietly snigger behind her.

Narrowing his eyes at her, Mr Harris decided to move onto more familiar hunting grounds.

"Mr Stilinski," placing his hands on his hips he puffed his chest out, his voice full of smug superiority as he addressed the younger boy, "if that's your idea of a hushed whisper, you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while."

A choking scoffing noise managed to escape Stiles' mouth that almost sounded like, "Wah?"

"I think you and Mr McCall could benefit from a little distance, yes?"

"No," Stiles appeared shocked that the man would even suggest such a thing.

Clearly not in the mood for classroom arguments Mr Harris simply shook his head and gestured for the two boys to separate. Grumbling, Scott moved to an empty spot up the front while Stiles stayed slumped at their workbench with a scowl, glaring mulishly at the satisfied chemistry teacher.

"Hey!" The girl next to Scott suddenly cried out, excitedly moving over to the window. "I think I saw something!"

Almost like a single entity the entire classroom swarmed towards the windows, driven by morbid curiosity. Finding herself sandwiched between Scott and Stiles they watched with bated breath as down below two paramedics were wheeling a severely wounded man towards an ambulance. Shocked gasps filled the room as the white sheet covering him began to soak through with blood, like red flowers blooming bright. A lump formed in Fred's throat as she glanced over at Allison uneasily, concerned that Scott 'sleep-hunting' may be a possible reality.

"That's not a rabbit," Scott's hushed statement was brimming with distressed, eyes fixed on the man below.

Blue eyes met brown as Fred and Stiles shared a concerned glance when their attention was once again drawn to the scene below as the man suddenly awoke. Hysterical screams could be heard even in the classroom as he struggled violently against the paramedics and deputies attempting to restrain him. Almost immediately the students averted their gazes, the sounds ripping from the man's throat causing many to shuffle anxiously.

"This is good-this is good," Stiles was breathless as he comforted Scott, absently patting him on the back and arm. "He got up - he's not dead! Dead guys can't do that."

"I did that." Scott said between heaving breaths, horrified by what he had witnessed.

"We don't know that," Fred was firm as she poked the boy between the ribs to get his attention, distracting him from a possible anxiety attack. "Okay Scott? We don't know that it was you."

Even though he nodded in agreement, a weak smile curving his lips, the look in Scott's eyes betrayed his firm belief in his own guilt.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **As always huge thanks to my beta missjanuarylily and my source of constant validation huntsthemoon.**

 **Now onto the reviewers: kisaageckos, corahaale, daystorm, dreamerwithapen, tinycurmudgeon, justacelingfan, and princessdarkness12 - you guys are all the reason I keep on doing this. Thank you so much for your constant support, you have no idea what it means to me.**

 **\- susiesamurai xoxo**


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